


Second Thoughts, Second Chances

by PreciousRichard



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Derogatory Language, Drinking, Fluff, Gambling, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreciousRichard/pseuds/PreciousRichard
Summary: The BLU spy can't contain his fascination with the RED sniper, and the RED sniper can't help but feel special because of it. When you're uncertain, there's no limit to how many second thoughts you can have. But how many second chances we should give is up to us.





	1. Rigid Fingers

"Do us a favor would ya kid?" Sniper mumbled, eye squinted into the lens of his scope, "Get lost." And he fired, the stock of his rifle mechanically recoiling into his shoulder. A scream resounded in the far distance.

The scout who was standing behind him gave him an incredulous look, his hands in his pockets.

"Hey fine," the young man snorted, breath clinging to the air in clouds of vapor, "no skin off my nose. Hope your ass freezes to that crate there."

The sniper pulled away from leaning on the beam of his roost. The dry snow that lay upon on it fell in a flutter over the side and spread across the air. Sniper noted it and grimaced, pulling his gun in and setting it upright against the railing.

"You should be cappin' points not yammerin' on. Get bloody goin'!" He chided as the young man drew his shoulders in and furrowed his brow.

The scout had run up into the nest as an excuse to escape the cold wind down below, chatting on about this or that as Sniper made his shots into the open expanse of snow. One could only take so many distractions before he got fed up with all of them. Between the snow drifting in his sights, the cold in his bones, and the ringing of that snide and arrogant Boston accent, Sniper was just about ready to pack up and demand they all call it a day. Scout offered a few more vaguely offended remarks before he regarded the pointed stare of his team mate and clambered off down the steps.

Sniper receded into the warmth built up in his heavy jacket for a moment after, pulling his scarf up closer against his neck. He pushed his Mann Co. Brown Bomber hat down securely before heaving a frustrated huff and picking his rifle up from against the wooden railing. He was careful not to shift any more snow, lest he be spotted. He really did hate the winter.

Forced to work with fingerless gloves, the skin of his hands had become dry and thin with the air. He fumbled with the slippery bolt handle as he pulled it free. Taking a round from his ammunition he easily slipped it inside and pushed the bolt, cursing harshly when it shut hard against his finger. He drew back and brought the pinched appendage to his mouth, muffling the curses seething out as he nursed the ache. At least it wasn't bleeding. With the round in the chamber he settled and took aim at a BLU soldier visible just around the corner near the enemy dispenser. The poor stupid bastard was just standing there begging for a bullet in the temple. Sniper pulled the trigger, but his crosshairs faltered as a shiver wracked his body and he shot right over his head.

"Are you bloody seriou- ugh..." The sniper hissed again, reloading clumsily as he watched the helmet move back behind the wall.

That must have been the last straw for the man, because he slung his rifle over his shoulder and sank back into his seat on the crates with folded arms. He had to have looked like a child who hadn't gotten his way but he couldn't find it in himself to care. To hell with the match, no one was getting anywhere today and the back and forth was mind numbing. He couldn't work when he was frozen stiff and he was as good as useless after a snowstorm like last night. It didn't help that he was out of coffee and what was left in his mug was frozen solid. A creaking in the floorboards alerted him to turn his head, catching a glimpse of blue ambling toward him casually.

"If you don't bugger off..." He muttered as he turned back around, fidgeting in his seat to sink further into his layers, "I'll turn ya into a piss-cicle."

The figure behind him chortled, smooth and warm, "I am astounded you can relieve yourself at all without it turning to ice immediately."

"I'll just have to shank ya with a dagger made'a piss then." Sniper snorted back.

"Sniper, we both know daggers are not your style."

The sharpshooter knew, just from the way the man strolled up to him, who he was. The smell of spice and tobacco wafted across the lofty nest as his vaguely European accent filled the space. The BLU spy had done this before, many times. One day he simply started talking instead of stabbing. At first Sniper pinned it as trickery and sent the blue bastard through respawn at every attempt. But after a while and a chance to humor the masked man’s questions, they began to chat occasionally. Now their relationship consisted of mostly the same professional rivalry as always, save for bizarrely tame and casual conversations when the spy approached him with his guard clearly down. They usually never killed each other on days like those.

"Have you clocked out already?" Spy inquired, hands in his pockets, leaning over the crate to glance at the man's expression.

"We shouldn't even be out here." Sniper puffed back, vapor visualizing his words, "Why can't the administrator just call a ceasefire?"

Blowing smoke to the side, Spy scanned around the room, "You know how it is up there," his attention fell upon a stack of jars, "we are disposable to them, it is rare they display such... Compassion."

He circled around the crates and stopped short of the stack of jars on the floor. He glanced at the sniper who was merely staring across the battlefield, then hesitantly tapped the glass with his shoe.

"Mon Dieu." He said mostly to himself, eyebrows twitching upward, "You might as well throw bricks. They're frozen solid."

Sniper regarded him with a twitch of his mouth, "Can whip ya up a fresh batch if you prefer it warm." He scoffed, cocking an eyebrow.

Disgust washed over Spy's face much to Sniper's amusement, and he laughed through his nose at the way the other curled away from the jars.

"Always charming." Spy said, rolling his eyes.

He idly smoked, standing just behind the sniper and gazing someplace far past the complex. He thought he saw a deer past the fences, but before he could get a good look he noticed the way Sniper shivered, and the red painted on his nose and fingers when he brought them up to breathe on them. The spy rummaged in his pockets.

"Do you have a lighter?" He questioned at the man curled up before him.

The sniper flicked his head toward him, surprised for a second before reaching toward his pockets, "Uh, nah mate I only carry a book'a matches. Need a light?"

Before he could get them, Spy was holding a silver lighter before him, clicking it to life. The glow alone warmed his face, awash suddenly in orange against the dark gray brown light of the roost.

"Warm your fingers, they look dreadful." Spy tutted, "What kind of sniper would you be if they fell off?"

Sniper curled his upper lip at him for a moment, then grabbed the little thing from him a bit more forcefully than he intended. He felt embarrassed that the BLU spy of all people felt pity for his pathetic shivering state. He looked up and saw the cool gray of Spy's eyes watching him intensely, keeping track of every motion. It always made Sniper feel put on the spot.

"Where's your BLU sniper?" He asked carefully, lowering the flickering flame and gazing out below, "Last thing I need is my bloody head blown off while distracted by you."

"He's caught a cold of all things." Spy sighed, "Honestly, how careless. I doubt you will see him today."

Warily, Sniper nodded and brought the lighter up to his hands, thawing the frigid and numb fingers which were course and unwilling to move. He sighed at the welcome warmth, bending his joints as they melted into more pliant movement. Spy seemed content with it, giving a satisfied hum while taking another long drag off of his cigarette. When the last of his aching faded, Sniper leaned comfortably back and snapped the lighter closed.

"Fancy thing," he snorted, looking it over, "You sure love to throw you're bloody money away on nonsense."

"It is not nonsense. It is a reliable lighter, never mind the price." Spy spat back.

"Yer always buyin' trinkets you don't need ya bloody ponce."

"You are not one to tell me what I need." Spy's voice grew venomous.

"Nobody needs that rubbish you carry around. Yer just a wanka who does it fer show." He toyed with the metal, "And with flowers engraved on the side? You come off as a right pooftah."

Spy stepped before him at that, holding his palm out. He looked displeased, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulling hard on one side in a sneer. What he really wanted was to snatch it back from him and give him a piece of his mind, being thoroughly insulted at his insinuations. He watched as Sniper's eyes got wider, looking about for only a second before coming down on the lighter. He put it in Spy's palm tentatively, and Spy watched him deflate.

"Some thank you." Spy snapped.

"Sorry..." Sniper murmured, and Spy stilled where he stood.

He looked down at Sniper; his hands were fiddling with his fingers. He looked him up and down, and still the man wouldn't look up at him.

"What?" Spy asked, leaning in, a bit of disbelief in his features.

"M'sorry." He responded more clearly, "I'm bein' an arse... It's all this bloody snow."

Spy couldn't believe his ears. "You never apologize to me."

"Look I know when I say too much alright?"  
Sniper looked defeated, and Spy couldn't fathom the change.

He put a hand on Sniper's shoulder, and he flinched, although it could have been a shiver from the cold. He finally looked up at that, meeting his eyes, breath stilling when he acknowledged the softness in the masked man's expression. He looked away quickly.

"It's quite alright," Spy reassured melodically, "we're all finding difficulties in this weather."

Sniper sighed; he felt warmth creeping from Spy's touch. It was too casual, too jarring in its innocence. He wanted to push his hand away but his arms wouldn't move. Instead he sat, looking at his boots and the scattering of snow dusted across the floor. There was something about the enemy Spy that the RED spy didn't share. Including his strange interest in the Australian man. Of all the people in his proximity who he suspected might want to be his acquaintance, the BLU spy was always last on that list. But for some reason he kept coming back. For years it's been his instinct to spite the man, spitting insults and curses at him. What else could be expected when he spent half his battles waiting to respawn from a knife in his spinal column? But now, somehow they'd gotten to this point; sharing lighters and conversations in the middle of a war zone.

"Hey Spy?" Sniper piped up when the others hand returned to his cigarette.

"Oui?" Spy asked, cocking a brow.

"Why'd'ya come here?" Sniper asked, quieter, his hands going back to play idly with his finger joints.

"Why?" Spy parroted, turning fully to the other, "Well it is cold, and I do hate getting my clothes wet."

"No you git." Sniper sighed, thumbing at his palm, "Why come chat at all...?"

"Have you changed your mind?"

"What?"

"About chatting."

"Wh... No."

"Then-"

"Just answer me would ya?" Sniper was beginning to look a bit disheveled.

Spy pondered for a moment, thumb and forefinger coming to rest on his chin. He shifted his weight to one leg and looked over the Sniper's form. Sniper gulped quietly, acutely aware of the places those eyes began to roam. He felt scrutinized, and exposed. It embarrassed him.

"You are interesting," Spy finally said, "that is why."

"Like a science project?" He gawked, monotone.

Spy snorted some sort of laughter stuck in the back of his throat that he tried to hold in and failed. Sniper puffed up indignantly and was about to open his mouth to retort when Spy continued.

"Non no mon ami, like a puzzle." He smiled, snuffing the butt of his cigarette into the snow on the railing.

Sniper must have looked visibly perplexed, because Spy only chuckled again.

"You hang around me because yer tryin' to figure me out?" He said, treading carefully on his tone.

"Not quite." Spy smiled, "I 'hang around' because I very much enjoy your company."

"That don't make much sense Spy. You hate my way'a life." Sniper furrowed.

"As dirty as it is-" Spy threw a hateful glance at the jars of frozen jarate, "I find it doesn't make you any less of a person per-say." He stepped back and took a graceful seat on the crate beside the man, "You intrigue me, and I'm quite fond of your rustic atmosphere."

Sniper wasn't sure when he stopped breathing, but he willed himself to continue once Spy settled onto his seat. He listened, and felt a soft quivering in his chest. He brushed it aside, and tried to keep eye contact.

"I'm a simple man." The Aussie said quietly, "I like simple stuff, nothin' fancy about me. We're not much alike mate."

"And that's what keeps this so interesting." Spy smirked, "As simple as you claim you are, you cannot deny that deep down we both seek the same things out of life."

Sniper looked at him like he had his head on backwards. Spy noticed, and waved his hand with a chuckle.

"Think about it," He began, "we're both men who seek comfortable lives. We like our privacy. The reason you send your pay checks home? Security. Yet another goal we have in common."

"Yer just listing things every bloke is lookin' for." Sniper scoffed.

"We both seek out our purpose in life by killing men for a living." Spy continued, looking out into the snow and regarding something unseen softly.

Sniper quieted at that. His hands returned to fidgeting. Spy hung around him because he considered them alike at their core but worlds apart on the surface. And Sniper didn't know how he felt about that.

"You're a world traveling Spy. I'm sure you've met plenty'a folks just like me." Sniper returned, "I'm nothin' special. Just an average fella with the best bloody aim you've ever seen."

Finally Spy let out his laughter. It spilled forth from his throat so suddenly he covered his mouth, looking around all the while to make sure no one nearby had heard.

"How can a man be so humble and proud at once?" He bellowed, rubbing at the corner of his eye.

Sniper couldn't help smiling. If he took pride in anything it was his aim and his aim alone. He didn't regret flaunting a gift that made him who he was.

"I've never met a man like you in my life." Spy said suddenly, seriously.

Sniper snapped his gaze up, finding Spy staring at him, a gleam in his eye that made Sniper feel so vulnerable he could swear the man was reading his thoughts. There was the flutter again, and an ancient feeling he pushed down faster than he could register it.

"Well... I..." The Sniper hesitated, "I s'pose I can say the same about you."

Something was off. Something about the entire situation felt turned on its head somehow and it frustrated the Aussie to find himself lacking the words to describe it. Spy watched him process, his mind working hard to think about all that'd been said. The corners of the spy's lips quivered with the fight of a smile, and he almost wanted to reach out and tug on his hat to bring him back to Earth. Then maybe he'd rub his stubbled chin... Or caress his chee- no. The Spy's eyes snapped open again, glancing wildly to see if Sniper had caught him daydreaming. Once he was sure the other was too preoccupied with thinking, he squeezed his eyes shut when he blinked to clear out the fog. He could feel his heartbeat, and it only drove him further into worry. He was scolding himself for daring to get so imaginative when he felt a hand on his back.

He shivered, and not from the cold.

"Hey mate," Sniper said, smiling at him so very innocently, "you're alright."

Spy gazed at the railing for a moment, running the word through his head, translating it in French. Satisfied, he turned to the other and patted a firm palm on his shoulder.

"You as well amigo, I-"

[You failed! STALEMATE.]

The two of them flinched in unison as the screech of the loudspeaker interrupted, the Administrators harsh and judging voice shaming them all equally.

"Bloody hell..." Sniper groaned, "Great."

Spy too, seemed to deflate as the lines on his face grew deeper.

Neither of them had gotten much work done that day, as was the usual routine when they slacked off together and spent the hours talking. They knew they wouldn't hear the end of it for their lack of support, but at the very least they didn't have to worry about being on the front lines.

"Wait what time is it-" Sniper chimed in, lifting his arm and pulling his sleeve up to check his watch, "Hey, it's 10 till 4-"

Spy looked up at him with a spark in his eyes.

"Last match'a the day mate!" Sniper grinned, the life returning to his body knowing his shift was finally over.

Spy smiled back fondly, soaking in the happiness in Sniper's voice. He sat firmly in place while watching the taller fellow stand, stretching with all the vigor of a new man. He looked as liberated as he must have felt after such a grueling winter day. Spy's eyebrows twitched up at the several pops of his joints, he tried to fathom what a terrible job sniping must be in this weather. He smirked at the bashful way the Aussie glanced over at him, trying to play off the sounds of aging bones but making a point of them instead. Spy wanted to laugh, but thought better of it. Standing, he reached into his coat and pulled his silver disguise case from his inside pocket. Sniper was picking up his mug as Spy picked another cigarette and placed it in his mouth. The two of them stood there, staring at each other, not too sure what to say. But it was Sniper who spoke first.

He swallowed, "Say uh, mate... We're always talkin' outside n' all..." He reached up to scratch behind his scarf, "We should grab some coffee indoors sometime eh?"

Spy stared right into the pupils of his eyes, "Well," he heard his heart drumming, "Why not now?"

"We- I'm..." Sniper shoved his hands into his pockets and balled them into fists, eyes darting away, "I meant maybe when I moved back into the van- I'm in the base right now." He tried to smile.

"What about town?" Spy interrupted, terrified of his own boldness, and leaning in without realizing.

Sniper looked over and shifted his weight, his chest felt tense and welled with the same feeling he'd been constantly ignoring. But this time it seemed to be unavoidable and spilled over, draining into all of his limbs and into his face. His cheeks grew warm and he realized he must look rather pink. He hoped Spy would attribute it to the cold. The thought of the crowds of people all around them made his heart hammer harder. But he was filled with a glowing of hope that Spy had not rejected the whole thing in the first place.

"I uh- I..." He stammered, "As in, a coffee place?" He recited a string of colorful curses in his head at how dumb he sounded. _Of course a coffee place you moron._

"Yes-" Spy heard himself growing enthusiastic, he wanted what was happening and he couldn't help himself. "Perhaps a nice eatery or a café." He smiled, but in his painful self awareness he tried to stifle it.

Sniper took the odd expression on his face as acknowledgment of his poor choice of words. He felt his face grow hotter. He was making a fool of himself. He chided himself mentally for even suggesting the two converse outside of work. He wondered if he was making the spy uncomfortable, they weren't exactly supposed to get along, even if there was nothing explicitly saying they couldn't. After all, his demoman and the BLU soldier hung about each other after hours, but they still fought each other just fine. The thought eased him somewhat.

"Sounds fine." Sniper smiled weakly.

"Well, shall we?" Spy smiled, putting on his usual charm and bowing with his palm beckoning the stairs.

"Ah I'm- well I'm in my work clothes." Sniper stuttered, surprised at how suddenly all of this was happening.

"But of course, we can leave around..." Spy flicked his wrist up to look at his watch, and Sniper couldn't believe it actually told the time. "6'o'clock. Don't bother eating, we may as well have dinner there."

"Uh- where?" Sniper cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Don't worry mon ami, I know just the place. We will meet by the roadside yes?" He hurried, straightening his appearance with careful fingers.

Sniper hadn't anticipated going right away. He drew his shoulders up and his fists clamped tighter. He didn't really want to travel out to town, but now he felt no choice. Spy was one of those social butterfly types who could talk to anyone when he wasn't hiding somewhere. And suddenly the differences between the men couldn't have felt more obvious. He was torn between facing the public eye and having a hot cup of caffeine with a man he enjoyed talking to. But the more he thought about it, letting the fluttering of his chest continue, the more the whole thing made him smile.

"See ya there then." He grinned hesitantly, watching as Spy nodded in return and vanished with a glittering of transparent blue.

He listened to the footsteps creep carefully down the stairs and when they grew distant his shoulders fell with a heavy sigh. Vapor clouded thickly from his lips and vanished slowly in the air. His heart felt like it wanted to slide up from his throat. Fists relaxing, he noted how sweaty his hands felt and shook his head.

He felt like a heavy sack of organs, but he couldn't stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is inspired by a series of roleplays. This will be my first major project that isn't completed in advance, so I hope you can all bear with me as I trudge through the writing process. By the time I end most chapters I'm already writing the next one, so I hope to keep consistent with how often I update.
> 
> I greatly appreciate feedback and I love to create content for you, the reader. One of the few things that drive me to write is the support I get from the community. If you enjoy reading, I'll definitely keep writing!


	2. Spilt Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was prepared in advance and posted alongside chapter 1. Enjoy!

It was 5:58, and the spy was shivering in a blue double breasted overcoat on the side of the only solitary road anywhere near the RED and BLU bases. He had taken the long way around, along a shoveled pathway from his base so as not to get his pants or shoes wet in the foot high snow. He'd have to thank the soldier for clearing some of it later. Cloaked and invisible to the naked eye, he tapped his pointed Italian shoe against the faded black tar of the dark roadway. It was night already, and he stood under the eerie orange glow of a streetlight. He folded his arms and shivered freely while he was unseen, scanning about for another form to appear from the shadowy white and amber all around him.

His heart pumped furiously every time he glanced down at his watch, or heard a distant sound. But his face, always composed, showed no sign of distress. Inside however his mind was racing, sorting through a highly calculated plan for the evening. They'd chat on the way there (he'd already arranged the topics from greatest to least interesting), then upon arriving Spy would slip from the driver's seat and hold the door for the other man (then the entrance to the restaurant.) He'd thought of what to order, and a backup order. He'd even planned an escape route from the building in case they spotted anyone who might cause them trouble. He had a spare knife tucked away in his vest pocket, and a pistol strapped to his ankle. If anyone in that God forsaken mountainside town could be the embodiment of thoroughness, it was Spy.

He idly toyed with the seam of his sleeve to resist the urges of reaching for a cigarette. He didn't want to be followed, and spared nothing for complete undetectability. Instead his nervous habits took hold and his behavior would have looked horribly suspicious if one could see him. He held his lip between his teeth and sighed. All he wanted was for the evening to go as he planned, and images of Sniper's smile in a warmly lit booth soothed him. It was now 6:01.

Sniper stepped out from his camper, slipping with practiced ease from the driver's seat onto the shoulder of the road. He left it running as he closed the door with a blunt metallic thud, huffing hot air on his fingers. He was wearing a brown and gray winter jacket that stopped mid-thigh, and a pair of pants that looked quite if not exactly like his work pants. But at least he saved a pair specially for outings. Pushing his Brown Bomber hat more securely on his head, he looked around. He glanced up and down the street, and for a moment he felt a pang of excitement followed by the burn of stupidity when he mistook a blue street sign for the other man. He shook his head, grumbling something along the lines of  _idiot_  before letting his eyes fall on the distant BLU base. He looked around himself before stepping along the road toward it, up a hill that obscured the rest of the street from his vision. When he reached the crest of the hill, he immediately noticed a pair of lone footprints in the thin snow of the street shoulder. Carefully he made his way toward them, and more appeared from the spot, one by one in the small bit of white. Spy was there, coming toward him. Sniper tried to catch a glimpse of the cloak, but saw nothing and decided to slow to a stop. 

"Spy?" He called quietly, knowing his voice carried further in the silence of the dead winter.

"Observant." Spy said from somewhere beside him and he flinched. 

"Blimey. Is'at really necessary?" He gasped, catching a cloud of warm air in the corner of his eye.

Spy's tone gave away his invisible grin, "Did I spook you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Ain't that all yer good for ya bleedin' scoundrel?"

Spy laughed, and watched the man's annoyance manifest itself in a puff of vapor, a shift of weight and a sharp tug of his jacket. With a soft smile Spy resisted the urge to pat his cheek reassuringly. The Aussie must have thought himself pretty clever to spot the Spy, but once again Spy was just a bit stealthier. The man in blue reached for his pocket, but stopped himself short, biting his lip as he reminded himself not to smoke just yet.

"Come now, before someone spots you." Spy smiled.

Sniper felt at ease hearing the throaty accent of the Frenchman again, and welcomed the change from the boisterous chatter of the RED base. He opened his mouth to invite the other to his van, but felt a hand tug firmly at the front of his coat just under his chin. He instinctively began moving in the direction Spy seemed to be pulling him, but reached up to grab an invisible wrist.

"Hold on now, I thought I was drivin'."

Spy slowed and stopped, his eyes snapping to the grip on his wrist and the warmth there. "You don't expect me to ride in that van of yours do you?" He asked in an annoyingly honest tone.

"And what's wrong with my van?" He asked, prickly. "Besides, I left it on just over the hill- I didn't even know you had a car 'round here." Spy let go of his jacket and Sniper dropped his wrist, "I spent the better half of the hour diggin' it out." 

Spy's face sank; he hadn't planned for the man to bring his camper all the way out here. He hadn't anticipated that he'd go through the trouble of shoveling it out for such a simple trip. And now how was he to ask otherwise without appearing completely inconsiderate. He grit his teeth, mind working quickly.

"It's..."  _It's a horribly garish thing_ he thought, and bit his lip, "It is a bit top heavy for these mountain roads is it not?" He lied. 

"On the contrary-" Sniper interjected, "I just got the snow tires on, and she's got four-wheel drive." He grinned, somewhat sideways.

 _Merdé_. They were stuck with the van it seemed. And Spy was certainly not happy, but at least the sniper couldn't tell. 

"Very well," He said cooly, "then you lead the way." 

When they drove just past the sight lines of highest points of the bases, Spy deactivated his cloaking device. With a glittering of blue he materialized in the passenger's seat. Sniper, conditioned over the years, tensed at the sound. He glanced over to get a look at his passenger, starting from the slender legs in blue pinstripes to the heavy looking overcoat with shiny metal buttons, all blue, always blue. Sniper wondered if blue was honestly his favorite color or if it's all he was allowed to wear. Spy looked at him as if to ask what he was looking at, and he turned back to the road, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

Spy looked himself over in the side view mirror, and once content with what he saw, hurriedly reached into his breast pocket to pull out his cigarette case. Gracefully popping a filter between his lips he rummaged in his right pocket for his lighter. Sniper regarded the glint of it with a flick of his head, a hint of guilt lingered from earlier in the day. Dragging deeply on the brown and gold of the burning cigarette, Spy sighed and visibly melted into his seat. Sniper chuckled at him, but he was disregarded with a wave of the hand, the nicotine was too good. He tapped the end on the ashtray sitting on the dashboard, and traced the smell of apricot to the cheap little air freshener hanging off the rear view mirror. It was quaintly shaped like the fruit.  _Yet he mocks me for flowers_ Spy thought, laughing through his nose.

"What's so funny?" Sniper asked against the hum of the engine.

"Hm? Oh nothing. But if I may ask, why an apricot?" He dragged again on his tobacco. 

"Huh?" Sniper looked about, and suddenly made sense of the comment, "Ah well... It's a sniper thing..."

He cleared his throat, flushing when Spy offered him a quizzical look. 

"Care to explain? I am very interested in this 'sniper thing' of yours." He said.

Sniper swallowed hard, there he went again with the interested gimmick. If it really was a gimmick. Sniper just couldn't understand how it couldn't be. Nothing about a fruit seemed interesting to him but somehow Spy found a reason for curiosity. No one he could think of ever showed the interest Spy showed. He adjusted his grip on the wheel again.

"Well, I guess it's a bit of job humor." He began, "Ya see, a sniper's gotta aim fer the brain yeah?" He looked at Spy, who had leaned in and begun staring right into his eyes. He swallowed, and continued, "Well uh, the part ya aim for is called the medulla oblongata. That's the proper name for it anyway-" He felt his face grow hotter at his digression, "Us sniper's we uh- call that the apricot. 'N there you have it." He pointed out the air freshener with his eyes, but Spy didn't look away toward it. Sniper focused back on the road; at least he had an excuse to. 

"Very interesting!" Spy beamed as he eased back into the bench seat. "We spies do not have such jokes among our profession-" He crossed his legs casually and tapped the cigarette on the ashtray again. "Or maybe we do- and the joke is that you will never find out." He grinned, spotting the exhaustingly incredulous look Sniper was giving him and he burst into laughter. 

Sniper tried and failed to contain his own foolish grin and shook his head. He tried to call the other a bloody mongrel but slipped into laughter himself half way through. Spurred on by the moment Spy laughed so hard he snorted, and when his eyes went wide Sniper only laughed harder. Spy smiled despite himself and buried his eyes into his open palm, huffing chortles between breaths. Sniper grinned from ear to ear. It was rare Spy broke his cool facade and the incident relaxed Sniper's taut muscles. He felt comfortable, and oddly enough Spy looked like he did too. 

"That's quite a laugh you have there mate." Sniper smiled, collected at last.

"Oh please." Spy rolled his eyes, he felt a twinge of embarrassment at the jab. "The least you can do is not make fun of your guest non?" 

"Not makin' fun!" The sniper assured, trying his best to sound genuine. "In fact I rather-" He grew quiet as the words died on his tongue.

Spy tilted his head and blinked, staring at the other and expecting him to finish. When the silence drew on for just a second too long, he pressed on. "Yes? You what?"

Sniper gave him a look from being jerked back into reality when his mind lost itself in a flurry of words. They all seemed to step on some kind of invisible boundary, one which appeared blurred in such haste.

"Uh-" He began, feeling the weight of idiocy pressing down on him, "well I was just gonna say I rather like it." He stumbled in his verbal footing, "Something about it. So I'm not makin' fun." He tried his best to smile softly. 

Spy's heart throbbed in his chest, and a feeling licked at his insides like a dancing flame. He felt a thrill rush down his arms and he only realized he was smiling devilishly when the sniper rumbled a perplexed noise at him. He resisted the urge to reach out for him, bottling up the sensations and storing them away without a hint of their existence.

"Something about it you say?" The spy was leaning inward, daring, closing in. "I fail to see the appeal of such an unfortunately unbecoming laughter."

Sniper shifted his gaze, head turning slightly every time as he glanced from the road back to Spy. He searched back and forth between the two for anything to mentally grab onto. He felt completely out of balance. And his brain could only think about the road ahead, and the way Spy was so very close to him. One of the two was causing his heart to beat faster, and he'd never been a nervous driver.

 _It's Spy_. He decided, and fingered at the steering wheel, feeling like a deer in headlights. "It reminds me you n' I are just people." He tried to chuckle.  _Am I afraid?_  He wondered to himself as he watched the other from the corner of his eye. 

Spy appeared wholly content with his answer, "I see your point." He smiled softly, gazing out the window. Sniper could have sworn he'd shown a humble look that had no business being on the face of a man like him. 

When the spy was settled back in his seat, his curiosity seemingly sated, Sniper was left with only his thoughts and the hum of the engine. _What am I afraid of?_  Was the main question that plagued every word floating around in his head. The straight and empty expanse of snowy road before him nearly hypnotized him into a trance as he thought. In every instance he imagined, he grew more nervous in closer proximity to the man. But nothing about it had felt dangerous in a long while. He considered he might be conditioned to avoid being close enough for the other to stab him in the back. But when he thought of being killed on the field it felt more like a nuisance than a fear. Death hurt- quite badly- and it wasn't fun, but it wasn't something he was particularly afraid of. He tried to imagine what made him uncomfortable around the guy. He was always well dressed, and made a point of teasing Sniper for being dirty or unkempt. But it never bothered the man much because it was very untrue, he took good care of himself. His sideburns alone took constant grooming to keep tame. His mind slipped away into wondering just what Spy did with his hair, and why in the world he insisted on wearing that mask no matter what. It must have fused with his skin by now. The thought pulled at the corners of Sniper's mouth. He went over the sharp features of Spy's face; the groomed eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the glow of the little skin he'd ever seen of the man. He'd never seen more than a wrist exposed to him. Did he shower with that silly mask on his face? His skin was likely quite pale, but his body was surely lean and fit beneath his suit, he couldn't keep up on the battlefield otherwise. His black gloved fingers would look good against that pale muscle in the showe-

Sniper's eyes snapped open, breaking the trance of the road when Spy tapped the butt of his cigarette on the ashtray over the dashboard. He made a quick assessment of himself, realizing his face was hot. He'd just thought of Spy naked in the same car as the man. In the shower. With his damned gloves still on. The sharpshooter could not believe his mind. He felt his heart begin to hammer away, and panic filled him as he worried Spy would notice the color on his face. He couldn't get the image out of his head now, it was burned into his eyes. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles slowly turning white. He screamed at himself to stop, that it wasn't happening. But more of Spy's body appeared to him in detail instead. His shoulders, his back, his thighs, his- no. No, Sniper needed to get away from himself. He hadn't had a single thought like this since he was in his 20's. He couldn't let himself fall back into that mess. He nearly began to sweat fighting against the idea that he was attracted to the man who'd killed him more times than he could count. But the more he tossed the word  _attracted_  around in his mind the more everything started making sense. From the day he gave the BLU spy a chance to talk rather than fight.

"Are you feeling alright?" He heard Spy ask, the sudden loudness of his voice was nearly deafening, and Sniper visibly jumped. "Oh, my apologies if I've startled you." 

Sniper wanted to smack his own face as hard as he could. He craved the sting of pain to overpower the spinning. The last time he'd felt this ashamed he was just a kid. He was unhappy to find the feeling didn't change with age. 

"No no, s'alright." Sniper croaked, his throat was tight and he didn't dare look at the man he'd just seen naked in his mind's eye. 

"Are you road sick?" Spy asked, and Sniper cursed the genuine concern in his tone.

"Er- yeah..." He lied, "This kinda road really gets to the stomach." 

He could see Spy turn to look ahead, regarding the long expanse of white snow and black tar. He nodded, and turned back. "Yes I see... We'll be arriving shortly, will you make it?"

"Yeah mate I've had worse." He lied again; his sweaty palms were slipping on the leather of the wheel.

"As long as you don't wretch anywhere near my suit." Spy said, pulling out his cigarette case for another smoke, but grimacing at it and putting it away instead. 

The smoke was definitely not helping the situation, Spy thought, holding his lip between his teeth. The white knuckled hold Sniper had on the wheel tipped him off of something distressing. He looked uncomfortable, and Spy wanted nothing more than to arrive at their destination as soon as possible. It was for Sniper's sake firstly, but just as equally for the sake of his suit if he were to vomit. He glanced at a passing road sign, and sighed when it read they had but five miles left to go. He watched the air freshener swing gently to the rumble of the cabin, and admitted to himself the van was not as unpleasant as he'd always imagined. It was no Ferrari, and the interior looked more like the half finished skeleton of a vehicle, but it was spacious and durable. It somehow exuded the personality of Sniper, but that only lead Spy to consider what kind of animal skin grass woven interior the living space hid inside. He shuddered, shooing the tacky thought out of his mind. He filled the space instead with what mementos must be stored away in there, and whether he'd earn a chance to snoop around one day. He dreamt fondly of what childhood photos must be lying around, and the chance to see the sniper's face before he became such a ruffian. He wanted to laugh when he pictured a scrawny young boy in the outback, perhaps holding some dirty reptile or -what was it called- a wombat. The exit off of the main road rolled into sight and Spy nudged the driver, who flinched in surprise.

"Take that right." Spy instructed, and Sniper nodded at him and slowed to the curve.

They'd parked around the side of the stone and mortar restaurant, and Spy gathered all of his thoughts and focused them precisely on his plans. As they chatted on the topic of explosive ammunition and approached the corner, Spy picked up his pace. Sniper was chuckling to himself about something he'd said while they approached the entrance of the surprisingly busy building. They slowed behind a small group of patrons also going inside. A man trailing behind the group turned to spot the pair behind him, and with a smile he turned before the door, holding it out. Spy clenched his jaw, trying to look composed. The flaring his nostrils gave away his annoyance. He wasn’t about to allow some stranger to interfere. He slowed instead, pretending not to notice the man as he pulled his sleeve up to look carefully at his watch. He did not care one bit about the time. 

Sniper stopped with him, and glanced down at the pale skin of his wrist beneath the deep blue of the fabric. He caught sight of sparsely placed dark hairs further up his forearm and swallowed hard, choosing instead to focus on his face. But something seemed off. Was he unhappy with the time? He looked over at a stocky man patiently holding the door, a smile still on his face as the people in front of him made their way toward the front desk. 

"Uh mate-" Sniper looked back at Spy, "there's a gent holdin' the door for us." He flashed an awkward smile at the fellow.

Spy grit his teeth harder, he despised being upstaged above all things. He frustratedly forced his sleeve back down and cleared his throat. "Oh, so there is." He said flatly. 

Sniper simply blinked at him, but followed when he began to walk. The smell of food was already wafting from the doorway and making his mouth water. He heard a forceful "mercí" from the Spy as he passed the stranger at the door, and Sniper furrowed his brow. He must really have been unhappy with the time. He nodded a pleasant "thanks mate" at the man and he smiled back, closing the door behind them and squeezing past to join his group.

 _Mark my words_ , Spy seethed in his mind, _if I were not in good company you would be a dead man._ But inwardly, he mourned the loss of his planning.

Sniper looked on as Spy slid something across the front desk toward the young man working there while they spoke. A bribe no doubt, of course he'd pin Spy as the type of man to do such a thing. Sniper didn't see the big fuss about which tables were better or special services, but Spy loved to throw his money around so he let it be. He took to looking the Frenchman over instead. He was now noticing the spilling feeling in his chest, registering the way it filled him up when he thought about being completely alone with the gentleman for the evening. He reminded himself to be friendly, and that whatever passing fancy he'd been living with would leave him eventually. For now he could simply enjoy a hot cup of coffee and a bite to eat with an attractive guest. There was nothing more to any of it than that. 

Sniper drew his gaze away from the spy and noticed the man at the desk glaring at him, a look of judgmental scrutiny with squinted eyes. Sniper was taken back by the face and reeled with furrowed brows. The man then returned his attention to his papers and didn't look up again. Spy was unbuttoning his coat and missed the exchange, so of course Sniper's look of disbelief was lost on him. The Aussie tensed, he wanted to sock the guy square in the face. The echoes of his culture pressured him to strike but he restrained it and stuffed his fists in his pockets. 

As if on cue, a shapely lady with big brown hair appeared to take them to their table, she cast a lingering glance upon the sniper, and smiled. Sniper offered the most polite smile he could give, and she hurried the pair forward into the den of patrons. They'd been seated a generous distance away from the others, and Sniper couldn't help but worry the look he was given earlier was because the host had gotten the wrong idea about the two. He didn't even want to think about how strange he must look sitting alone with a man in a blue balaclava. The entire concept made him nervous, and he dodged every glance he got from the people across the room. They ordered their coffee and something to eat. Spy requested some appetizer and a seafood entree, and Sniper hastily ordered some kind of steak. The waitress turned to Sniper when she spoke, and it made him feel cornered. But he smiled the best he could manage. 

Spy bit his tongue when he realized the waitress' interest in the Australian. She was no older than 35 and had a pretty face; all the more reason to resent her flirtations. This was Spy's night. Everything he had been working toward finally manifesting in time alone off the clock. He would not have it ripped away from him by some mountain town nobody. If it weren't for her and the imbecile who held the door, the evening would be nearly perfect. He straightened his silverware and sighed, deciding to admire the location he'd chosen. He had imagined Sniper would find the wooden interior comforting, and hoped he would appreciate the many hunting trophies that decorated the walls. The food of course, was not exquisite, but tasteful enough for such a secluded location. He'd already been here once to be sure of that. He watched Sniper carefully as he seemed to be taking in the environment as well.

The waitress returned with coffee, and her blouse unbuttoned to reveal a pronounced cleavage. Spy rolled his eyes. She may have been blessed with good looks but she was barking up the wrong tree. Spy looked at Sniper fondly, happy he was paying all of his attention to his steaming drink. He had the most charming look of excitement holding the cup that Spy dared to imagine it directed at himself. He hummed as the woman walked away and stirred a cube of sugar into his coffee.

"Hell of a rack that is." Sniper said suddenly, and Spy nearly flipped his spoon out of his fingers. 


	3. Sweet Somethings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first update, enjoy!

Sniper had been staring dreamily at the foyer across the restaurant. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he keenly eyed the most beautiful endowment he’d ever seen. He fantasized for a moment, chin resting on his knuckles, of being able to hold such a massive pair. He was about to head to the front desk and demand where they found a beauty like that when Spy’s fidgeting drew him back to reality. In the corner of his eye, the masked man was elegantly wiping something off the tabletop.

“I think she was trying too hard.” Spy returned flatly, dabbing away drops of coffee with an impassive look on his face.

“What?” Sniper blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to decipher whatever Spy had just said.

Sniper returned his attention to the foyer wall, where the mounted head of the moose he had been admiring hung. It had the biggest pair of antlers Sniper had ever seen and frankly it made him jealous enough that he really considered asking the staff what caliber they’d used to take it down. He was about ready to ask the BLU spy whether he was aware that only male moose grew antlers, when the distant image of the waitress flashed in his mind. His face sank, and his eyes went wide as he searched Spy’s face for some hint -any hint- of a joke. Horrified, Sniper found him fully serious, and raised his palms up in front of himself as if to surrender.

“No- No that’s not what I meant!” Sniper stammered, growing embarrassed at yet another poor choice of wording on his part.

Spy gave him a quizzical look, and Sniper inhaled sharply with parted lips as he tried to think of how to explain the misunderstanding. His eyes darted to the mounted head as if to beg for its help, but the glassy eyed stare offered nothing.

“I did not take her as your type.” Spy continued, looking down to wipe the side of his cup where coffee had inevitably dripped seconds earlier.

“No- you’ve got it all wrong ya bastard!” Sniper insisted, growing tense. _Not even close,_ he sighed internally.

With his head still dipped, Spy looked up in intrigue. He felt a lapping wave of hope, unsure where the other was going with all of his talk just yet. But anywhere else was better, he thought. He gripped discretely at the linen napkin in his hand, as if to will on some good fortune in his moment of disappointment. He was genuinely perplexed however, and it showed on him. Sniper could recognize it clear as day, and held back the need to drag his palm firmly down his own face in aggravation. Hurriedly, the sniper began to make a small display of brief motions across the room.

“Over there!” He hissed, accompanying the near spastic pointing, “The sodding trophy you git! The moose!” He looked more distressed with every flick of his eyes, “ _That_  rack!”

Spy lifted his head slowly as words translated to him, and as much as he didn’t want to, he forcibly tore his gaze away from a very rosy and fidgeting Sniper. He cast it instead on the warm browns and oranges of the restaurant. He searched beyond the tables full of people chattering away to the distant sound of piano and percussion to find this moose of which he spoke. There, where the ceiling rose high before the entryway, was the dusty head of a bull moose with antlers perhaps as wide as Spy was tall. It was placed so far up that the masked man had easily missed it up until now. For a while, Spy looked at it and didn’t move.

Sniper on the other hand found he could not stop moving. He rested against the back of his chair, and rubbed his hand across his forehead to ease the frustrated lines that gathered there. He dragged his fingers down his temple with a groan and let his arm drop to his lap. He lectured himself all the while over wording; it was getting to be a problem how often he said foolish things without thinking, at least around Spy. Words always got him in trouble it seemed, which was grueling when Spy drew so many out of him with ease. This time they’d made him look like a pervert who ogled waitresses, and he frowned at the thought of it. Before he could think any more, Spy had turned back to him with the same smile he got when he made a particularly humorous kill. Sniper squinted at the devilish mirth in his eyes and that smug little grin of his grew wider. Sniper puffed up and grabbed the edge of the table, pulling himself forward.

“Don’t.” Sniper warned with a dark rumble, but the white of Spy’s teeth was already peeking out past his lips. “Don’t you bloody dare.” He pointed an accusing finger at the man.

But, just as every time Sniper commanded Spy to stop laughing, it drove him to laugh harder. Now he was pressing a knuckle to his teeth and shaking with silent chuckles lost on Sniper’s ears. But he could see the way his chest and shoulders trembled under the blue of his suit and it made him pinch the bridge of his nose and exhale every ounce of air within himself. He rolled his eyes and flopped back, gripping the table because he really wanted to reach across and shake the guy by the collar. He thought better of it knowing he’d never hear the end of it for wrinkling his suit, and if he spilt anything on the fabric there was a chance Spy would kill him right there in the restaurant. He opted instead to give him a cutting glare, lip curling just ever so slightly.

“Ha-ha.” He growled sarcastically, “You finished yet?”

“I apologize-“ Spy smirked, voice wavering with restraint, “It was just… The timing-“ He nearly snorted finishing his sentence.

Sniper threw his hands up in defeat at last. “Can’t a bloke admire a game trophy in peace?” He griped, settling an arm on the tabletop and forcefully grabbing his coffee with the other. He sneered and took a long drink, emptying it before setting it on the saucer with a solid clack.

“I should have known,” Spy sighed, the smugness of his face hiding his utter relief just under the surface, “I admit, it is a ‘hell of a rack’ as you put it.”

“Ah piss off.” Sniper jeered, shifting in his seat with fervor.

Spy chuckled deeply just once more before the waitress appeared again with a platter. Spy felt oddly sorry for her as she greeted the pair, thinking she was certainly more attractive than a moose. But at the same time he reveled in his little victory against her, and felt very proud of himself somehow, even though he had no right to be. She set Spy’s appetizer down before him; a round dish of Italian bread slices all arranged in a circle, topped with vibrant reds. After a few curt pleasantries she offered to refill the men’s drinks and left for the kitchen. Spy cast a teasing glance at sniper, who furrowed his eyebrows and inclined his head in a nonverbal warning. It made Spy smile again, a little more from genuine happiness this time as he allowed himself to feel the full effect of emotional relief. This was still his night.

“What is all that?” Sniper asked him, leaning on his arms to examine the plate Spy was adjusting.

“Bruschetta.” Spy responded coolly, pinching the tips of his black gloves one finger at a time.

Sniper stopped breathing when he realized he was removing them. He’d never seen the man’s bare  _anything_  before, and here he was taking them off like it was nothing at all. His heart sped up, and he watched each movement like a hawk as a thin pale wrist appeared, then the back of his hand, and knuckles stark white against the blue and black of his wardrobe. Finally a set of smooth fingers slipped from the leathery fabric. The square nails and pronounced knuckles worked nimbly to pull away the other glove.

“Yes they do come off.” He heard Spy say, straightening up as he realized he’d been caught staring.

He met Sniper’s eyes with a critical look on his face. Something playful danced behind his sharp stare and it drove a pleasant thrill down the sniper’s back, tensing him. All of a sudden Sniper couldn’t believe seeing the other’s bare hands intrigued him at all, and he felt silly for getting worked up in the first place. Spy may have caught him staring but somehow he didn’t mind this time; he felt vaguely happy. The Frenchman placed his gloves out of the way and smirked. He held a hand up and displayed it mockingly, even wiggling his fingers as if to prove they weren't fake.

“Believe it or not Bushman, my ensemble is not attached to me.” He added, “Shocking I’m sure.”

Sniper frowned at the sarcasm, cocking a brow, “Too right.” He bit back, “I’m more surprised to know you actually eat.”

Spy snorted at him with a soft smile, “You will find that I adore fine cuisine.”

Spy looked over his plate fondly, admiring the vibrant tomato and the scent of basil, olive oil and cheese. Unaware that he was still smiling, he deftly lifted a slice of the bread to his lips, taking in every detail of the morsel he could, before excitedly eyeing sniper and waving it in toast.

“Bon appétit.” He smirked, and took a languid bite.

Watching the other thoughtfully eat, the sniper thought to himself that the spy looked so  _human_  in that instant that he could have mistaken him for anyone else- if it weren’t for the mask. He remembered the conversation earlier in the day about how Spy considered them fundamentally alike. There under the dull glow of an old lamp, somewhere in a vague northern town at a restaurant table, Sniper realized they were just two men who wanted to have a good meal and a nice evening. The thought of gunpowder and bullet casings couldn’t have felt further away. When Spy finally finished off his piece, Sniper admired the bob of his Adam’s apple beneath his mask, and the way he rubbed his fingers together over his plate to shoo away any crumbs.  _I’m in over my head_ , he assessed, when he found himself watching Spy’s lips press against the white of his cup to drink. He felt his own breathing when coffee clung to them for just a second before a deep pink tongue slowly licked it all away- and it was  _sinful_ , he thought, to be so enthralled by someone he should be considering strictly a friend.

“Any good?” Sniper asked quietly, holding his own cup and tapping it absentmindedly.

Spy gave it a thought, mulling over what he’d just tasted, “I’ve had far better, but it’s surprisingly well made.” He finally answered.

Sniper smirked, “That’s about what I’d expected you to say.” And Spy looked visibly offended at being read.

“Of course. Well, then should I expect  _you_  to wear your jacket the entire evening?” Spy retorted, lifting another piece with a smooth flick of his wrist.

Sniper started, looking down to find that he had in fact been wearing his winter jacket indoors the whole time. He groaned, and Spy took a satisfied bite of his bread, closing his eyes to soak in his little victory. When he opened them again, Sniper was fumbling with the zipper.

“Ah bloody hell,” The Aussie sighed, “nah it’s just been real uh…” He threw spy a quick glance, “Eventful. Forgot I was wearin’ it.” He awkwardly began to remove it.

Spy smiled politely at him, watching the zipper slip down, further and further until his hands slid away under the table. Spy let his eyes linger there before trailing back up to the exposed reddish brown sweater he wore over a white collared shirt. He eyed the sniper generously, sizing him up. And if he had to admit it, he was impressed with how well the bushman cleaned up when he wanted to. Somehow the man before him almost didn’t seem like the RED sniper he’d been pestering for months. Spy had expected him to wear his usual red button-down, but instead his shirt was shockingly white and pressed, his face was shaven, and his hair was neatly pushed back. Spy almost burned with the desire to add in a chestnut tie and pull him by it. When the Aussie finally slipped his shoulders free and hung his coat on the chair, Spy freely inspected the curve of his broad back under the tight mahogany wool and licked his lips, recalling all the times he’d drawn upon it with strokes of his blade. When Sniper settled and tugged at his sweater, Spy returned to sipping coffee as if he’d never been looking. All things considered, Spy couldn’t help but feel special, even though he had no actual proof that he was.

“Tell me Sniper, do you ever tire of eating various reptiles and animals you pick off the ground?” Spy asked thoughtfully.

Sniper cocked an eyebrow, “That was only once.” But Spy gave him a pointed look and he sighed, “Okay, it was only a couple times. I eat the usual stuff too y’know.”

“The usual being your run of the mill Mann Co. rations.” Spy said flatly.

“Not all of us have time to go gallivantin’ around town.” Sniper mumbled back, “Food is food. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

“I suppose that is very Australian of you.” Spy replied, sounding painfully bored by his response.

“N’ it’s real French of  _you_  to make food complicated.” Sniper remarked gruffly, taking a hint of offense even though he couldn’t dispute the accusation.

"Do you have any concept of the skill required to prepare a complicated dish? The precision? I would think you of all people would understand." He zeroed in on Sniper's eyes, "You make a point of 'perfect bloody aim,' well what of 'perfect bloody taste?'"

"Taste don't serve much purpose, do it?" Sniper scoffed, "At least puttin' bullets in people is useful." 

"Even the simplest man enjoys an exquisite meal. You aren't fooling anyone Sniper." Spy returned darkly, eyes narrowing. 

The sniper crossed his arms defiantly. He didn't have anything to retort with, and couldn't find any way to prove the other wrong. He sat back, pouting and grumbling to himself about the  _nonsense_  and how he  _just can't win_. He watched Spy finish another bruschetta, and then slide the plate toward him as an offering.

"Here mon ami, hunger frays the nerves. I insist you try one while we wait." Spy implored as peacefully as he could.

Sniper's eyebrows arched, and he looked down at the few remaining pieces. He shook away the nervous thought that Spy's bare hand was just inches from his arm, and hesitated first as if to ask whether Spy was sure. He then warily plucked a slice of bread, balancing it between his fingers, and looked at it suspiciously.

"One thing a chef and a sniper have in common," Spy smiled, "is the enormous pride they take in their craft."

Sniper had lost track of how many times he'd surrendered like this by now. He even wished his hand would stop moving as it drew the appetizer to his lips, but it acted on its own. He resented the way Spy always seemed to know exactly what to say; whether it was to push his buttons or calm his stormy moods. He considered the Spy too sly, too picky... Too charming and thoughtful. He bit into the morsel and cursed. It was delicious.

"Well, 'any good?'" Spy mocked.

Sniper paused a long while, but at last sighed heavily, "It's bloody grand." He saw Spy open his mouth but heaved relief when the waitress interrupted to refill their cups.

Spy cut off the conversation as the woman stepped before the table, and bit his tongue wishing he could have gotten in a well timed " _I told you so._ " He then decided he had poked the grumbling kangaroo enough as she poured the coffee. He was smiling fondly at the other's face. Only the RED sniper could make frustrating defeat look so sweet. But the spy was more interested in how quickly he'd obliged; he wondered if the man was far more open than he put on. Deep inside Spy grew excited as his mind concocted an array of things he'd like Sniper to try. It would take a great deal of pushing, and perhaps many months at a time, but the prospect colored the gray mundanity of the war. He suddenly found himself glowing brighter than ever, because it felt like purpose, and it was bringing him life.

As the evening went on, patrons came and left, but Sniper and Spy remained at their table. Spy had eaten his grilled salmon surprisingly quickly, and nursed his coffee as Sniper finished off his steak. Spy had pestered the other until he admitted he preferred the meal to anything he'd eaten in a while. But in retaliation Sniper had pestered him about the flavors of exotic animals, getting him to admit there was value to tracking in the wilderness. They continued their back and forth about this and that for quite some time. Sniper felt like he learned more about French culture that evening than he'd learned in his whole life. He didn't quite understand half of it, but living with coworkers from overseas taught him how to accept it. He also learned Spy liked to talk more than he looked like he did. The Frenchman led most of their topics, but Sniper didn't mind at all. He found he liked to listen to his melodic accent. Spy found Sniper's day to day life surprisingly normal for a man who spent the better part of his years in the wild. He found he could say far more to him without judgment than he'd expected, and he wondered if all the years he spent away from society had anything to do with it. 

"I do hope you won't be using your coffee against me tomorrow." Spy joked when he finished off his cup.

"No promises mate." Sniper returned, tipping his cup in toast at him before taking another swig. 

Spy shuddered. "Well what do you say I pay for the meal and you forget to bring your jars along?" 

"No deal." Sniper chuckled, "You can bribe the staff mate but ya can't bribe me."

"Fantastic." Spy groaned sarcastically. "At least in this weather I can expect a concussion instead."

Sniper laughed particularly loudly at that, enjoying the exhaustion Spy expressed at him. But then he thought about the snow and the battlefield he'd face the next day, and it drained him of his joy. He tried to focus harder on the coffee in his hand.

"Lucky for you the weather makes me a worse shot." He admitted, looking down begrudgingly at his innocent cup. 

"You did just as well today as you did last week." Spy corrected, eyeing him with suspicion.

"What?" Sniper set his cup down, "I missed more shots today than I have all month."

"Well my team would argue you landed just as many shots as any other day." Spy assured.

Sniper looked at him funny. He wondered what Spy was playing at for a moment before he considered that he might have been genuinely comforting him. He couldn't fathom why, so he continued to question the conversation, ready to be jabbed with some snarky quip.

Spy tilted his head when the sniper didn't respond to him. "Even I can't deny you are a skilled marksman, despite my reservations about your... Other methods." He said coolly, voice dark and sincere.

Sniper felt a chill run down his arms; he held back a growing smile. "Are you complimenting me then?"

Spy sighed and shook his head disappointedly, "As reluctant as I am to inform you, you are better at your job than the sniper at BLU." 

Again Sniper laughed, nearly bellowing as Spy winced. "Don't let your mate know you said that!" He grinned. 

"But I have." Spy responded innocently.

When the sniper couldn't find the hint of humor on Spy's face, he quickly stopped laughing. "You're not serious?" He asked, floored.

"Do I not look serious?" Spy asked, "I have no problem telling my coworkers when they aren't pulling their weight... Well," He glanced up for a second in thought, "most of them."

Sniper couldn't believe his ears. He really didn't want to with the way it made his heart sputter. He played idly with his fingers, but stopped fighting the cocky smile it bewitched him with. The BLU spy admired his work, and praised that which he was most proud of- to Sniper's own enemies no less. It wasn't like he knew any snipers better than himself to praise him -he was the best after all- but something about praise from the enemy was so intensely  _honest_  and  _sweet_. There across the table, the BLU spy seemed so genuine, thoughtful and down to Earth that for the first time in his life Sniper wished he could have been a woman just to catch his eye. He felt fear at himself when it made him realize he wasn't just attracted to his good looks. He was overcome with the sensation of sinking, and it scared him more than any rocket or gun barrel to the face ever had. Spy would never. Spy was his friend.

"I'd clock RED's spy right in the nose if he said that to me." He tried to laugh, pushing all the thoughts out of his brain. _Just enjoy his company._

"As you can imagine, me and our sniper are not on the best of terms." Spy answered dryly, stirring sugar into his drink.

"Fancy that, I'm the replacement Aussie then am I?" He teased, feeling prouder than he should have that Spy preferred him.

"He is nothing like you." Spy smiled warmly, and Sniper laughed.

"Aren't all Australians the same to you?" He smiled back.

"You are proving me wrong all the time." Spy shook his head, frantically dodging every romantic phrase that danced on his tongue in the moment.

Sniper felt the words like a river of lava in his blood. "I thought you hated bein' wrong." He smirked. 

"Intensely." Spy said darkly, only to smile as he continued, "But occasionally I am pleasantly mistaken."

"But I'm still a 'filthy bushman' aren't I?" Sniper chuckled.

"Bushman yes. Savage non. I've found you clean up quite well. So bravo, Monsieur." Spy dipped his head in acknowledgment, quick to push away the word handsome and keep his composure as a feeling overwhelmed him.

"I wasn't raised in the wild," Sniper smirked, giving him a look, "But don't expect me to wear a suit."

"Suit or non, when you actually put in the effort," Spy looked him up and down, "you turn out quite handsome." The word slipped from his lips before he could catch it, and his heart dropped. "For a Bushman." He added, mind immediately buzzing.

"Blimey," Sniper laughed, he felt heavy. "Handsome?" He was blushing, and cursing himself. "You wouldn't be comin' on t'me would ya mate?" He joked, hoping to tear away any seriousness and put a stake in his own feelings once and for all.

For once, in the blinding wake of a very accurate accusation and overwhelming situation, Spy spoke without thinking. "Oh, you don't want that answer." Was all he said with a chuckle, and before he even noticed it left him, it was gone. 

His heart stopped. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. In an instant he watched his evening crumble, crash, and burn before his eyes. He looked as if his mind had simply shut off, and his heart couldn't decide what emotion to feel. Sniper had been smiling, and when he let the words sink in it faded. He looked blankly at Spy, and found the man was not giving him any sort of correction, or clarification. 

"What?" Was all Spy heard Sniper ask from somewhere far away.


	4. Four Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to stabninja on Tumblr for their wonderful fanart of this chapter! ♥ [Check it out!](http://stabninja.tumblr.com/post/156814824871/this-is-some-fan-art-i-created-from-this-amazing)

Sniper’s heart was thundering in his torso, pulse rippling through his neck, arms, and hands. He tried -with all his might he tried- to keep himself calm, but the single most insistent thought in his head was that he’d been found out. Spy was a gentleman. He was always great with people and especially women, and now there wasn’t a doubt in Sniper’s mind that he’d recognized his behaviors. Those words were a pity response, Sniper thought, which spared him from hearing a sobering “no” like a textbook gentleman would do.

“Spy?”

When Spy looked away, Sniper gripped at the fabric of his pants and clenched his fists until his knuckles were stark white. Hastily he reviewed the day’s events. He wondered at what moment Spy must have become aware of his wanting eyes. He wondered what might have given him away. It could have been the impulsive staring, or the adamant way Sniper argued the accusation of his interest in the shapely waitress. Or, Sniper swallowed, he could have recognized it from the start, even before Sniper himself had just today. He wanted to scream.

Spy’s silence echoed a long forgotten scene trapped deep within the sniper’s mind. Now it bubbled up and returned to him in flashes of hazy images two decades old. There was an image of himself, juvenile and hopeful, wading through the mangroves with another young man as they gathered crabs from the mud. He saw through his own eyes as he watched the young man sleeping across from him before the campfire. He saw himself through sun-stained colors stealing longing gazes as the other waded shirtless in the river. He saw himself up close with the vague image of the boy’s face, then the sting of painful white, and finally the unforgiving rocky ground. People’s voices, both recent and ancient, personal and faceless, recited disgust and hateful laughter all around him. Finally a vision of his hands appeared to him, releasing a pile of secret papers and magazines into an open flame. The outback called to him in the restaurant, his van called to him, imploring him to  _come back_ , and with it came a frighteningly unfamiliar burn behind his eyes.

“I didn’t think I looked like the type.” Sniper said, using all of his might to steady his voice.

Spy had been all but screaming at himself to move, to think, but his body refused him with near insulting ease. He pleaded with himself to come up with an excuse for what had come out of his mouth. He begged himself to salvage what little must have remained of his months of effort. He pictured himself at the end of a long road, staring over a cliff which descended into a pit of warfare in black and white below. He bit his tongue hard, the entire situation was so blatantly uncharacteristic of himself and it filled him with more terror than any gun barrel to the face ever had. He had never lost control of himself like this, but that sniper – that wretched, earnest, precious sniper- he’d broken him with no effort at all.  _This is it_ , he thought,  _over before it began_. The agonizing sensation of having something ripped away from his body contorted his face into a dark and hollow grimace. He dared then, with pulse in his ears, to confront his rejection. He was already well acquainted with the weights of heartbreak anyway. But over where he expected anger or contempt, he discovered a solemn man, slouched with his head dipped, looking smaller than Spy had ever seen him before. He spoke with restraint in his voice and a horrid stiffness in his body that made even Spy feel the discomfort.

“I’m sorry.” Spy apologized weakly, finding even his insatiable need for cigarettes to be gone.

"Don’t.” Sniper answered harshly, fixated on the way the brown fabric of his pants bunched up in his grip. “Why should  _you_  be sorry? You're just bein' polite.” He paused, “You coulda said no... Yer a mate, n’I ain’t got any business lookin’ at ya like that." He forced a breathy laugh on impulse, "I'm just glad you haven’t slugged me one in the face fer it."

After a long and unbearably awkward silence, Spy spoke. “Sniper…”

“I can call you a cab…” Sniper interrupted quickly.

“Sniper…”

“I’ll cover the meter.”

“ _Sniper_ …”

“I can pay fer all this too if it’ll-“

“ _Bushman_ _!”_

Sniper’s head shot up in surprise, since it was extremely rare for Spy to yell like that. He then watched as his initial look of thorough confusion became some sort of disbelief under the blue of his mask.

"Sniper, s'il vous plaît," Spy said with absurd gentleness, "I'm afraid you've misunderstood."

"Huh?" Sniper reeled back, and blinked away the numb sting in his eyes. 

The tone of Spy's voice was one he'd never heard, but the man’s eyes recovered the blade edge precision and focus he'd come to know of him. Sniper swallowed, and noted how much more staggering and vulnerable it felt to be stared at now that he'd been exposed. That steely blue easily overpowered the lingering taste of bitter memories.

"Sniper," Spy began with obvious caution, "when you look at me, do you like what you see?"

Sniper fumbled, he tore his eyes from the spy, "I..." He slouched, ashamed, "Yeah..."

"When you look at me, what is it you feel?" Spy continued.

Sniper felt himself go red again. "Fuck..." He cursed, and hid his face behind his hand, "I don't... It don't matter- I would never try anything I swear-"

"Because when I look at you-" Spy interjected, "I'm overwhelmed with the desire to kiss you."

Sniper's eyes snapped open behind his hand.

"Did you perhaps think I had discovered you?" Spy added, voice gravelly and low, "Because I was simply sure you wouldn't want to hear that I was, indeed, coming on to you." He leaned on the table and the creaking was louder than his next words, "I still am."

Sniper was frozen on the spot. All the normal functions of his body ceased at once and he wondered if he'd wake up in his bed covered in sweat any second. Had he heard him right? Was he sure of what was happening? Yes, there was no mistaking it. There was nothing there that could have been turned around or twisted. Spy was flirting with him. Spy wanted to kiss him.

"You're having a laugh." Sniper murmured under his breath, denying every thought.

"I am not laughing." Spy said very matter-of-factly. 

"You're not. You ain't..." The words caught in his throat, "You ain't like that. You're the lady killer."

"Just this morning you called me- what was it you said? A 'pooftah?'"

Sniper bit his tongue, his jaw was tight. He had finally forgotten about that, and now he felt guiltier than ever.

"It's true I enjoy the tenderness of a woman..." Spy whispered, "But I am no stranger to the touch of a man. And you, Sniper... Something about you drives me mad." Spy paused thoughtfully, and rested a bare hand on the fist Sniper held firmly on the table. Sniper gasped and removed his other hand from his eyes to look down. "I did not think you looked like the type, but sometimes... I am pleasantly mistaken."

When Spy got a clear look at the Aussie's face, his heart nearly flipped in his chest. There was a deep red spread generously across his cheeks, and Spy marveled at the way it even dusted his ears. When he caught sight of the shimmer on the blue of his eyes he pulled away and called for their checks. He stood, quickly slipping on his overcoat and telling Sniper to do the same. Sniper, looking panicked and confused, obliged and stood. The waitress handed them the bills and Spy glowered at the phone number scrawled in ball-point pen at the bottom of Sniper’s. He pulled out his wallet and grabbed for a pair of hundreds, tossing them haphazardly onto the table. Sniper gawked at the absurdly generous tip, but before he could mention it Spy was already walking away. Sniper quickly zipped his coat as he jogged to catch up with the Frenchman's swift footing. Spy could see nothing but the destination he pictured, and his tunnel vision in getting there muted the sniper's voice telling him to  _wait up_ , and asking him what was wrong. But there was nothing wrong. In fact, everything was more right than Spy had ever imagined it could be.

Sniper had flinched back when Spy's bare skin seared into his hand, and it spread such a heat inside himself he wondered if he might have suffocated. But before he could question either Spy or his own self, Spy was calling someone and standing and slipping on his gloves. His order for Sniper to dress had caught him so off guard he'd simply got up out of surprise. And he near chased the man in blue out the door to the questioning looks of a scattered restaurant audience. He didn't even have time to feel embarrassed by the crowd before Spy led him around to the dark back of the building where a street lamp had burnt out. Sniper could hear a trembling in his lungs now that he was panting, vapor clouding thickly in front of his face. _He's going to kill me here_ , Sniper thought. And just like that he felt the firm grip of hands around his collar. He braced when they started pushing and grunted when his back hit a cold stone wall. He rigidified his muscles to fight back, but then a slow and purposeful warmth settled on his face. He opened his eyes... Spy was kissing him.

Spy pulled the taller man's jacket up tight, holding him in place as he slotted their lips together. He closed his eyes, taking this one singular beautiful opportunity. He did what he'd been resisting for longer than he'd ever had to resist before. He took it all in; the plush of his lips, the intensity in his rigid position against the wall, the way he held his breath and the warmth of his physical existence right there in Spy's grasp. It was over too soon, but Spy was wary of taking too much. He slipped away, slowly loosening the grip he had on the man, and opened his eyes to see a dead-eyed stare directed right at him.

Sniper couldn't remember a thing when Spy parted from him. All thoughts had dissipated besides the cold empty space the other had occupied, the sensations tingling on his skin, and the way Spy’s dark eyelashes floated prettily above half-lidded eyes. Sniper's body began to move, but Spy was not the one to instigate it this time. Instead the Australian found himself slipping lower and lower until he was seated on the ground, hands resting against the damp concrete.

"Sniper?" He heard Spy call.

"Huh?" He responded stupidly.

"Are you alright?" Spy asked him with a hint of concern.

"Uh huh." He mumbled back.

Spy knelt down to offer his hand and Sniper looked up at it as if under a spell, reaching for it. Spy squeezed his palm and helped him to his feet, where he discovered he'd lost some control of them. Sniper teetered back against the wall and looked up at the cloudy winter sky, expecting some sort of answer from some sort of God to explain what was happening to him. Spy appeared in his view instead, and Sniper watched in a daze, lips parted as if to speak but saying nothing.

"Was that too much?" Spy asked, vapor rising into the air on every word.

Sniper shook his head no, but just barely. Spy frowned and looked at him skeptically. "You practically shut down."

"That was my first kiss from a man." Sniper blurted, a bit louder than he'd meant to, so he raised his knuckles to his lips.

"Allow me to take the second." He heard Spy say, but before he could process what it meant, Spy was kissing him again.

This time he jumped as their mouths met, and Spy gripped him by the arms as if to make sure he did not slip away to the floor again. He felt his pulse in every place their bodies touched, and a mangled sound escaped his throat when Spy pressed further against him. Sniper could feel the way their lips locked together, and the thrilling roughness of the hairs on his chin, and oh God- his tongue... It tasted at the fleshiest bit of his lip, sliding and feeling him there.

Spy held him tight, feeling the muscles of his biceps under his hands twitch with uncertainty. He tasted both sweet and savory still clinging to the taller man’s skin, and reveled in the flood of sensations when his body pressed close. His senses were on overdrive, amplified by the knowledge he was stealing away not only the sniper's first, but even his second kiss from another man. This time when he pulled back, Sniper pressed forward, kissing him in return with a desperate mewl. Spy's belly and torso were instantly consumed by a fire that drove his fingers deeper into the other's arms, and forced a quiet gravelly sound from his chest.

When they parted, breathing heavier than just seconds before, Spy looked up with a lazy stare at the man standing eye to eye with him. Sniper was looking right at him, glazed over and reaching up to touch at his own lips like they felt foreign to him.

"Crikey..." He rasped, his face dusted red and lips just so slightly wet.

Spy graced Sniper's cheek with his thumb, at which he winced in shock before allowing it. "Well, this was unexpected..." He said, looking deeply distracted with the features of the sniper’s face.

"You're tellin' me..." Sniper breathed, "Crikey... Crikey..." He looked at the way Spy smirked at his lack of verbal construction. "You weren't kiddin'... You kissed me."

"How observant, mon loulou." Spy smiled, "I do hope you don't mind." 

Sniper looked at him in disbelief, "Mind?  _Mind_? That was- that was..."

"Good?"

" _Great_." Sniper breathed, "It was great." His focus returned to him, and when he realized he was frighteningly close to the Frenchman's face he drew up his shoulders. "So... Er uh... What does this mean?" Spy gave him an incredulous look and he sputtered, "I- I mean what do we do now?"

Spy regarded him with a thoughtful expression, then shrugged and reached for a cigarette, "The obvious answer would be to keep doing what we always do, non?" He brought his lighter up to his mouth.

"But-"

"Except, perhaps, with more nights like these." The spy puffed a bit of tobacco, "If you're as interested in me as you look."

Sniper swallowed, and opened his mouth to articulate something when the light of a car pulling in to the parking lot beside them flashed across the ground and shrubbery. Sniper stepped away and put a good deal of distance between them when the sound of wheels rolling on pavement grew closer, but Spy speedily left in the direction of the camper.

"I suggest we head back." Spy called to the other who looked around before proceeding behind him, "Unless you intend to be locked out of the gates back at RED." 

They settled into the seats, and Sniper grumbled when the cold interior of the cabin seeped into his bones. He started the van and insisted it warm up first before they started down the road. Spy made himself comfortable and puffed away on his cigarette all the while, the burning end glowing bright red with each inhalation. Sniper wrung his hands, simply trying to come to terms with everything that seemed to be happening. He thought about the way Spy always sought him out on the field, and the little things he’d done that now made a lot more sense in retrospect. He considered how long the man had tried convincing the sniper to talk to him, and how many conversations the two have had since then. He fiddled with his joints, bending his fingers and hearing an occasional pop.

"Say Spy?" He asked, voice filling the cabin.

"Hm?"

"Was... This meant to be a date?" 

Spy coughed, and batted his chest to clear his lungs, "Well..." He looked like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, "The thought may have crossed my mind this afternoon. But you did invite me first."

Sniper turned his body to him. "So... How long then? Have you... Well y'know?" He asked quietly.

"Quite some time." Spy answered honestly, smothering the cigarette in the ash tray and turning his body as well.

Sniper nodded, uncertain of just how long he meant but didn't press the issue. "Well... Why me?"

Spy happily smirked at him, "Let us see...." He pondered exaggeratedly, "Handsome, self-reliant, skilled, earnest? I fail to see what's not to like, besides those nasty work habits of yours."

Sniper felt hot and light. "I... I'm not-" He stammered, unsure of just how to respond to the flattery, "I mean, part of that is true. I mean, I don’t think… Uh, well, thank you." Even in the dim light, Spy could see the way his ears burnt pink and his eyes skittered about. 

Spy watched the way he played his hands, and how much effort he was putting into something as simple as a thank you. The masked man was slowly overcome with the realization that the RED sniper was, in fact, achingly adorable.

"You're going to kill me." Spy whispered under his breath, reaching out to touch the man's thigh.

Sniper jumped at the heat pressing against his shivering leg. "What?" He asked when the sensation settled.

Spy smiled, deciding it was better not to call a hardened mercenary adorable to his face. "Tomorrow you will kill me. Do you think you can do that after tonight?"

Like a switch, Sniper reeled and furrowed his brow in the face of his work. "Are you bloody mental?" He asked indignantly, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest like his usual self would, "I'm a professional! You think a couple'a flowery words and a quick pash'll keep me from doin' my job? You'd have to be pretty bloody full'a yerself ya wanka." 

Spy looked stunned, if he still had his cigarette in his mouth it would probably have fallen out. Sniper looked at him defiantly, and it was all too clear that when it came to his job, he wasn't willing to make exceptions. To his surprise however, Spy started laughing. At first a chuckle, then a hearty, amused laughter that filled the cabin and rightly confused the sniper.

"Oh Sniper," Spy wheezed, placing a hand on his own chest, "you would not be the man I fell for if you had said you couldn't!"

Sniper blinked at him, and a cunning grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, "You bloody piker." He jabbed, and felt his heart squeeze tightly when the joy in Spy's eyes met his own. It felt strange, he thought, how life at Mann Co. and living in this moment felt like two completely different worlds.

The trip back seemed shorter than the trip there, and somehow quieter, even peaceful. The two mercenaries shared more comfortable silences than words this time around, finding they were far more tired and well fed. The view out of the windows seemed a little more beautiful, and the space they shared a bit warmer. Spy seemed reluctant when he instructed Sniper to drop him off just out of sight of the complex. Sniper agreed and pulled to the roadside where Spy gathered himself and faced him. Perplexed and nervous, Sniper looked him up and down. He leaned back when Spy crawled toward him, and when he kissed him a third time, he let him in with no resistance. Spy found his lips and held his jaw with his fingers, brushing them against his sideburns. Sniper keened into the contact this time, kissing back and putting a tentative hand on Spy's shoulder. When they parted, Spy found the nervous kangaroo had actually closed his eyes that time. He'd truly indulged in it. 

"Sniper, if you would," Spy spoke, smooth and warm like he had first thing that day, "I'd like you to seriously consider becoming mine." 

Sniper's lungs stopped mid-breath, and he had to will himself to do so again before he spoke. "You mean, a relationship?" The words didn't sound real coming from his mouth, "Like really seein' each other..? That doesn't sound much like you."

Spy smiled at him, inches away, "I think many things about me would surprise you. But being so captivated by a dirty bushman like you doesn't sound like myself either does it?" 

"I'm not keen on losin' my job over this." Sniper explained warily.

"I am a spy, mon loulou, keeping things secret  _is_  my job." Spy smirked, looking a bit too cocky for his own good. "I will give you time to think about it, take as long as you need," He settled back into his seat, "but it would make me a very happy man."

Sniper grumbled something incomprehensible, and Spy tilted his head at him in a catlike manner – the motion of which made Sniper sigh and run his hand through his hair. "I'll think about it."

With that, the spy slipped out of the door in near silence, and turned before shutting it, "Thank you for tonight, Sniper." was the last thing he said before quietly closing the door and disappearing in a crackling wisp of blue.

When the Aussie arrived back at the living block of his base, the first one to question him as he stepped through the door was the soldier – to no one's surprise. "Well well well," he taunted huskily with his beefy arms crossed over his massive chest, "If it isn't _Balbo Biggins_. You missed the briefing soldier- you know what  _that_  means." He grinned from beneath his helmet.

"Er-" Sniper never did know what to say when the others spoke to him, especially Soldier.

"That's right  _maggot_ _!_   _You_  are on dinner clean-up detail! Now I wanna see those dishes  _SHINE_ _!_ HUP HUP HUP!" The RED soldier used his massive frame to shove the lanky Aussie through to the parlor, where he had nowhere to go but the kitchen. 

Sniper squawked at the bulldozer of a man when he pushed him through the doors and left him stumbling into the kitchen. He hadn't even gotten a chance to take off his coat. At the very least no one really cared where others went in their down time, so he wasn't worried about being questioned. He was glad that at least nothing important had happened while he was gone. He peered out the doorway, looking for the soldier and hoping to make a break for the bedrooms, but he found the man diligently patrolling the corridor, ready to inspect Sniper's cleaning skills no doubt. The sniper sighed, his coat coming off to submit to his apparent chore. It was something one got used to in a place like RED. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, hoping no one passing by would ask why he was wearing it, and set to work rinsing off a mountain of dishes. They were particularly vile after whatever was on the menu tonight, and Sniper found himself suddenly keen on dining out for the convenience aspect alone. He somehow got to drifting off, thinking of the BLU spy's lips, and voice. He relived the moments in his head; his rich and slightly herbal scent, the feeling of his bare hand touching his skin. Then he felt a sharp pain in his right ass cheek that snapped him completely out of it. 

" _Daydreaming_? On  _MY_  watch? No  _sir_." Soldier barked behind him, his favorite whip in hand, "Those dishes better be spotless or I'll have you wash them twice! I want to  _eat_  off those dishes!"

Sniper grumbled angrily and rubbed the sore spot on his backside. Now the soldier hovered over him, watching as if he could see through the metal of his helmet. With no choice, Sniper begrudgingly finished his task and wiped his hands as the brawny man inspected his work. He mulled over it, and danced around the rack of dish-ware making forceful noises of thought. Sniper cringed when the man lifted a plate to his face and upon looking closely, licked it and smacked his lips as if it determined anything at all. He made a sharp quarter turn to the sniper and smiled with big teeth.

"Good work son. At ease." He grinned, and Sniper made a gut churning mental note not to eat off of any plates tomorrow.

Groaning, he quickly slipped inside his room and shut the door before he was noticed. He left the lights off and opened the window curtains, letting the white glow of the lamps all over the base gently illuminate his room. He threw his coat on the back of a chair, and pulled open a drawer in a small dresser. He changed into the shirt he'd picked out and slipped out of his pants into a much warmer red pair to sleep in. He considered that he should brush his teeth before bed, but decided against it at the thought of scrubbing away the feeling of Spy that lingered on his mouth. As he shimmied under the thin covers, he repeated what he'd heard in the car when their breaths were mingling. _I'd like you to seriously consider becoming mine._ Sniper began listing items in his head, both good and bad, but didn't get very far before he drifted off to sleep. That night he dreamt of Spy, and therein they kissed for the fourth time. 


	5. Blue Ink

When he woke up it was dawn, but somehow, Sniper was having an incredibly lazy and comfortable morning that day. Instead of getting up ahead of everyone else and heading to the point before anyone would speak to him as usual, he curled up into the warm nest of his covers. He drew his legs up and sighed into his pillow, nearly clinging to it as he indulged in the heat that had built up under the blankets. When the last of his dreamy thoughts faded away and his eyes finally stayed open, he turned and admired the bright sunlight filtering through the window from a crystalline blue sky. The color of the cloudless expanse reminded him of Spy's piercing stare, and with it came the slow recollection of the night before that soaked into his bones and made his whole body feel weak. He touched his mouth gently, the way Spy's kisses had been, and his heart sputtered. He wondered why he felt so strangely happy, but told himself not to question it too much. Really he knew the reasons, but confound it he was just too embarrassed to admit it. He sat up, working the phrase _consider becoming mine_  on his tongue for a short while, but rubbing at his eyes and face when no clear answers came out of it for him. He shook off the thoughts along with his covers then slipped out of bed and into his work clothing.

The base was still quiet this early, as most of the others slept in. He was grateful to be an early riser as he passed into the bathroom and began his usual routine. As he finished brushing his teeth he lifted his grayish blue eyes to his own reflection in the slightly dirty mirror. He looked at himself hard, furrowing his brow when he got closer. Spy had called him handsome last night, to which Sniper stuttered lamely in response. He was skilled without a doubt and self-reliant to his core, but handsome was the only adjective he simply couldn't wrap his head around. He squinted at himself, and traced the lines on his face with his fingers. He frowned when he pulled at the deep creases beside his mouth, noticing for once how old they made him look.  _Laughter lines my arse_ , he winced, suddenly regretting ever taking up smoking and spending too much time in the outback sun. He raised his eyebrows and spotted more slight creases across his forehead when he did, then dropped his head in a form of defeat.  _I'm still in my thirties and I look like a bloody geezer_ , he grumbled to himself before taking one last look at the mirror. _What does he see in me?_ He thought, with a nagging question of whether he’d been lied to. He flipped open the handles of his reflective yellow aviators and slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. He felt better seeing part of his face hidden behind them, and made to open the bathroom door. He paused and considered shaving in case he saw Spy that day- then shook his head, huffing as he walked toward the mess hall.

Halfway through his eggs on toast, he lowered the newspaper he was idly reading to the sound of clicking heels. He let the paper fall to the tabletop in his hands while he took a sip of coffee from his mug. He knew who it was by the sound, and lo and behold the RED spy sauntered into the room. He didn't so much as look at the sniper as he crossed the Australian's vision, yet offered a curt "good morning" as he approached the cupboards.

"Mornin'..." Sniper said back warily, watching the man behind his sunglasses as he poured himself a cup of Sniper's coffee. "I thought you hated my stuff."

"Yes it's disgusting." The RED spy said flatly, ignoring Sniper's gaze, "But- I am in a rush." 

"A rush? Where to...?" Sniper asked, surprised at himself for pressing at all. Perhaps it was that vague resemblance to the man who shared countless comfortable conversations with him that spurred it.

Spy gave him no glance, but looked at his watch, "That's none of your business." He bit back with cold and emotionless tone. 

Sniper noted how quickly the man finished his coffee and set the cup in the sink, and figured he really must have had some important business to attend to. He lifted his newspaper back up and continued to eat, but his eyes were locked on the other in silent observance. He was the same height as the BLU, and they even had the same accent, but somehow his teammate seemed harsh and snobbish compared to his enemy counterpart. Sniper envisioned the RED spy in place of the BLU in his camper last night, and felt sickened as soon as he did. He felt nothing beyond professionalism toward his teammate that much was for sure.

"Before ya go-" Sniper spoke, "Soldier said I missed a briefin'. Mind fillin' us in?" 

The spy straightened a bit and glanced around as if to think before finally looking at the Australian for the first time since he walked in. He was giving him a confused and rather judgmental stare as he spoke. "We had no briefing." He said, "I expected you of all people wouldn’t believe a word that infantile bafoon says."

Sniper grit his teeth. "Better safe than sorry's all." He said back, trying not to sound as angry as he now definitely was. 

Watching the spy examine him for a moment then turn on his heel and leave, he pushed his plate aside and folded the newspaper. He resented that he'd been fooled into doing what was most likely Soldier's chore in the first place yesterday, and even considered "accidentally" shooting him between the eyes later as payback. But something else was bothering him, and he only got so far as to wonder how the RED spy could be such a cold bastard to him when the enemy spy was thoughtful and polite before an energetic young scout came romping in.

"Heya Snipes!" He chimed, never stopping his stride and jogging in place, "Ready to kick some sorry blue ass today?"

"I'll leave the kickin' to you kid." Sniper offered disinterestedly, a quiet thought flickering in the back of his mind that he'd probably have to kill BLU Spy at some point in the day.

"Heh yeah, I am pretty great at it." Scout continued, "I been workin' on my calves- man they are lookin' sweet-" he chattered, going into the details of his workout routine as Sniper stood to wash up. "-I bet'chu I could break one'a them boards in half like in the movies-"

Sniper offered an occasional thoughtful grunt in response to the talking he was only half listening to, and once he set his dishes on the rack to dry he grabbed the pot off the coffee machine and turned to leave.

"Oh that's right you always go out early- that's cool- I'll just finish the story later- hey nail that other scout in the head for me would ya?" Scout grinned with infuriating cockiness.

Sniper waved at him lazily as he walked down the hall. He didn't even realize the boy had been telling a story at all, and he certainly didn't intend to shoot any scouts in the head unless it was convenient. The little hooligans were too fast, a waste of good slugs, and frankly not often a priority. He opened his locker in the resupply room, and as he felt the cool metal of his weighty rifle in his hands, he wondered if he really felt invested in his job that morning. He was under contract to kill anything blue on the battlefield, and as long as he did that much then ideally nothing else was of much importance. He tensed with the physical effort of sorting his personal life away from his professional life, which he hadn't needed to do since he first signed up for the job. He’d killed the Spy just fine when they were having friendly chats and didn't feel bad about it. He wasn't about to start feeling bad now. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder he set the image in his mind of all the ways he'd watched spy die in front of him. He ignored the numbness creeping into his arms as he sheathed his kukri.

The first match began at 9 am sharp. The gates opened to the announcer's cutting voice and the red team poured out of the resupply and toward the central control point. Everyone seemed eager to get the upper hand with a first capture after the last stalemate. Sniper was less than thrilled in the cold however, and trailed behind the group, covered by the medic and heavy that brought up the rear. When he'd clambered away to his warm and dry nest at a comfortable distance, he set up shop. For the next hour, no one had held the point for more than 15 minutes at a time and the morning was beginning to look like a repeat of yesterday’s draw. 

_I should'a brought me hat_ , Sniper thought as he took aim at a rogue blue pyro and fired.  _Where did I leave that thing? Ah it's still in my bloody van innit?_ He pulled the bolt handle and the bullet casing clattered to the floor.  _Maybe that fancy mongrel's whole plan is to put me off me bloody game._ He loaded a round in the bolt and pushed it forward,  _Well jokes on him, I'm feelin' better than I have all week._ He glanced behind himself at the thought of the BLU spy, but found nothing there and took aim. He muttered a quiet insult at the enemy heavy before firing, but the big man had been knocked back by an explosion at just the right moment and the shot missed. Sniper cursed himself, but reloaded with mechanical movement that took less than a second. Another casing clattered away from him.  _But he kissed me._  He thought,  _He wouldn't go that far, no one's that evil._  He felt his heart clench but he took aim again anyway,  _We're mates... We've been mates fer almost a year. He couldn't be that despicable..._  He fired, landing the shot on the heavy this time, and watching him topple into the snow.  _He kissed me._  He reloaded,  _He kissed me four times. Wait... Three times. I think I dreamt that last one._ He winced at himself _. Oh for Christ's sake I even dreamt about him! What the bloody hell's wrong with me?_ He fired and shot the blue engineer in the shoulder as he ran back for cover. He took a deep breath and accepted that no amount of sorting would keep his mind clear until he faced the issue head-on. But that would require him to give Spy a solid answer, which he simply just did not have. 

By the next hour the blue team had pushed the reds back to the fourth point. Sniper was forced to leave his roost and make a dash for a position closer to the base if he didn't want an ass full of bullets or a rocket to the face. He was clipped by an explosion of sticky bombs that obliterated the RED pyro on his way back to resupply. He held his arm in his hand as blood oozed from between his fingers, it was something he was used to, but the pain was still enough to make him groan in agony. Pain and dying always hurt, sometimes it was even excruciating, but working with Mann Co. and TF Industries meant it would never last. Healing was always instant and death was more or less a joke.

Nonetheless, pain and losing always puts a man in a bad mood. Even fully healed and safely tucked away in his nest, the sniper was brooding about the distraction Spy's memory continued to bring him.  _It's all crazy._ He thought,  _First I lower me gun to an enemy and next thing ya know he wants to start neckin'._  His abdomen felt heavy with coffee and he reached for a glass jar lying sideways on a barrel.  _This is the best job I've ever had, why should I risk throwin' it away for some French tart who's bound to toss me aside later?_  He frowned, unzipping his pants and relieving himself into the empty container.  _And what if someone caught on, that kind’a business follows a man fer life._  He screwed the lid back onto the jar and set it aside, straightening his shirt and pants before lifting his gun again,  _He's a lunatic, it's just askin' fer bloody trouble._ He fired at the BLU soldier as he flew through the air, hitting him in the liver, but it was just enough to kill him when he impacted on the ground. Sniper chuckled darkly to himself, finding a grizzly satisfaction in watching the bodies tumble limply into the snow. 

He felt silly, thinking he'd let himself get carried away at all by the spy's advances. Sure he was attractive and lively and surprisingly kind, but Sniper couldn't possibly believe he'd enjoy being a couple.  _He'll probably treat me like his lady friends anyway_ , he silently sneered as the fighting quieted down below.  _Last thing I need are flowers on me doorstep or useless knick-knacks I ain't got any room for anyhow. Fancy bloody wuss he is._  He glanced behind himself just in case. _Frenchies are all soppy romantic types, he'll probably get all touchy n' cozy n' what have you. I wouldn't even know what to do with him._ The thought was intended to deter him, but Sniper found he wasn't as opposed to the concept as he assumed he'd be. He shook his head, no, he wasn't cut out for the type of romance Spy would have in mind.  _He'll probably have me give up the camper!_  Sniper started, eyes going wide as he envisioned having to part with his beloved van.  _Me job, the camper? I don't even know how bloody serious that snake is. It won't work - absolutely not._  He shook his head firmly and planted his foot to aim his rifle, feeling certain.  _I'm better off alone._  He assured himself to the sting of an unhappy heart.

The next hour was the liveliest yet, as RED managed to push the blue team back not only to the middle point, but back toward their base. The reds held the second point and the odds were greatly in their favor when the engineer's sentry pushed back an enemy ubercharge just long enough to waste it. Invincibility or none, those turrets of his could turn an entire match. Sniper was feeling rather good about himself when he popped the medic between the eyes two times in a row, and he'd almost forgotten he was working when the BLU sniper switched out for a bow and arrows and took his chances in the open. Needless to say Sniper was elated to have such a fulfilling hour. He wondered though why he hadn't once seen even a glimpse of the BLU spy since the day began. It was relieving of course, yet somehow unnerving. Initially the Aussie wondered if he was up to something, but as time ticked by it became more unnerving in a different way.  _He couldn't be hesitating._ Sniper thought, chewing at his lip,  _He's too proud for that. Unless..._  He felt uneasy at the prospect of his spacing being a sign of his seriousness about their conversation. _No... That couldn't be right. It don't matter that much to him do it?_ He turned again toward the wall behind him; a consistent instinct to check the empty room for sneaky Frenchmen. His heart felt funny, and he wasn't sure if it was regret or fear or embarrassment or something between the three. Suddenly all of his certainty was thrown for another loop, and he found himself not knowing what to think again. 

He fiddled with the cap on his telescopic lens; pushing it closed and popping it open over and over. He mulled over the sparks he witnessed in that man's eyes when he held him against the cold wall, and the carefulness with which he spoke and moved. He contemplated the warmth of his body and the broadness of his shoulders, and then clumsily let the barrel of his rifle bounce off the floor when he lowered it.  _He's not so bad._  Sniper swallowed, feeling something familiar well up in his chest.  _Good looks, good manners... Never overstays his welcome._ He furrowed his eyebrows,  _He's never asked much of me. Even puts up with the jarate'n still comes back._  He ruffled his own hair and sighed,  _What if we did give it a go? I reckon he wouldn't wanna be caught any more than I do. I mean... We haven't been caught once fer all the times we chat on the job._  He drew up his shoulders, feeling overwhelmed with the concept of having been the object of Spy’s affection all those times. 

_He's a man._  Sniper gulped, feeling the fiery excitement in his nerves,  _A man. I never thought... Hell I never thought I'd end up with anyone let alone a man. Even if he does toss me aside..._ His breathing shuddered, ‘ _Least I can say I took the chance._  He wrung his hands, _This might be the only chance I ever get_. He stilled, then audibly growled at himself and squeezed his fingers into fists. “I’d be bloody awful.” He whispered out loud, _I have no idea what I'm doing. I'll make a moron of meself. He’s a smooth talking, experienced, good looking bastard and I’m…_

Then there he spotted him, disguised as the RED engineer. He could tell immediately because the real engineer had just left to move his sentry up ahead. An instinct suddenly overcame him. He had to shoot. He didn't know exactly why, but somehow Spy's genuinely happy laughter echoed in his ears when he lifted his gun. He felt a tremble in his fingers as he lined up the sights, and hesitated to watch the man look around before pulling an electronic Sapper from his pocket. He heard blood fill his ears when the little red dot stilled on the back of his head. It was him. It was Spy. It was the man who admired his marksmanship. It was the man who kissed him. And Sniper didn't even feel the trigger move under his finger before that man's blood was sprayed across the wall, and his lifeless body fell forward. The sniper froze, chest pounding slow but hard. He kept his eye locked into his lens until blood pooled from the now blue suited corpse. The disguise had dissipated in a flash of smoke when he fell, and soon his body would vanish as the computers in the respawning room took him away atom by atom. He laid his rifle down, and lifted his palms up to question the way his fingers shivered. Finally he understood. This was true regret, even though he knew it was what Spy wanted him to do.

He jumped at the booming voice of the announcer through the speakers, declaring a victory for the RED team. Sniper hadn't even realized they were capturing the point and now they’d won. He packed up listlessly and ignored the five minute humiliation round outside. He didn't really feel like a winner.

The BLU Spy had managed to evade the humiliation round by dying just before his team's loss. He stepped out of the respawn room with a dull ache in the back of his head -typical of a 39 millimeter bullet to the brain. He rubbed the sore spot and stretched his neck, thinking with relief that the nervous kangaroo had it in him after all. He stifled a smile, glad to know the Australian could still work under such a unique type of pressure. The rest of his team materialized before him one by one looking as displeased as he expected. The pale and vaguely ill looking BLU sniper caught sight of the spy when he appeared and nearly stomped in his direction.

"Wanna warn a bloke before you decide not to do your damn bloody job hey?" He barked at the Spy, who glared at him as he lit a cigarette.

"I did my job." Spy replied to him flatly, offering no sympathy.

"Are you fucking mad? That sniper took out half our team on every bloody point and you sat around on your bloody arse pickin’ daisies!" He seethed back, "Your job is to take care'a that fucking bell-end!" 

Spy's mouth twitched with the phantom of a sneer, and he blew smoke for a moment before speaking. "Au contraire," he puffed, disinterested, "I have many jobs in which I was quite successful. It is unfortunately no fault of mine that you are not successful in yours." 

The blue sniper looked ready to lunge at the man when the medic joined them, "Herr Spy I must agree with Herr Sniper. That man was a vital target and because of him we lost two ubercharges." Although the doctor spoke softly, it was clear he was annoyed as well. 

"Again I fail to see why I must always be the one to take care of a target much easier killed with a ranged shot." Spy reiterated lazily. "Yet I’m hearing no appreciation for the sentries I alone destroyed."

The sniper made to swing at the masked man, but the doctor held him fast, giving him a disapproving look before turning him away, "I expect us to work harder next round." Medic offered vaguely as he led the furious sniper into the nearest room. 

Most of the others had filtered out of respawn during the exchange; they were no strangers to badmouthing after a hard loss. It didn’t matter much to Spy though, victories and losses were team efforts on the field, and they couldn’t stay mad indefinitely. He sighed and turned to leave when a meaty hand gripped his shoulder, turning him around.

"Good work out there son." The blue soldier grinned at him beneath his helmet, "You really saved my tail when you took out that red medic. One more second and that hippy’s guard dog would have ripped me a new behind.”

Spy recalled stabbing the enemy medic as he took cover behind the heavy, effectively costing him his kritzkrieg charge on the central point. It must have saved the soldier at the time, but Spy had run off too fast to catch it. He wished he could say he was surprised at the distaste the other supporting classes showed for his lack of intervention with the sniper that day, but he’d made an honest effort to make up for it in other ways.

"All in a day's work my amigo." Spy smiled, somewhat won over by the childlike charm of the BLU soldier’s recognition for his efforts where it was due. 

He continued to avoid the sniper during the second match of the day, and the third. He steered clear of his sight lines and left him to enjoy an uninterrupted day of shooting for once. It was the least he could do to thank him for the other night, and it would be rather awkward anyway to strike up a conversation before the man had a chance to really think about his offer. By the end of the day he chuckled at just how many kills the Australian had racked up without a certain blue Frenchman to stifle his workflow. When he crawled under his duvet that night, Spy reached over into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a pen and tiny notebook. He jotted down a note in blue pen and neatly tore it out, folding it and setting it at his bedside. Running through a small plan in his mind, he sank deep into his luxurious goose feather pillows. He thought of Sniper, as he often did before he slept, and fondly looked forward to the following day.

That afternoon he jumped at the first opportunity he was given to scour the highest buildings in search of his favorite back. He crept with near silent steps around corners and up stairs, stopping to carefully peak into every room with a window. He heard voices up ahead of him and tentatively crept along down the hallway with his back against the closest wall. He tapped at his watch and cloaked, listening to any words he could make out. He heard the familiar gravelly tone of the man he was looking for, but he was speaking to someone in the room instead of himself this time. Spy nearly choked when the RED pyro sauntered out of the room ahead and trudged down the hall, flamethrower at the ready. Spy froze and held his breath, pressed up hard against the wall to make himself as small as he could be. When the demonic abomination of a mercenary turned the corner, he flicked open his disguise kit. In a wisp of smoke he became that very pyro, and slipped into the room with a practiced dramatization of their body language.

Sniper turned, glancing at the pyro before turning back, "I told ya mate I haven't seen him up here." 

Spy smiled at the obvious reference to his person, but reached into his pocket and slid his balisong free, flipping it open. He could see the Sniper twitch in suspicion but drove the gleaming blade deep between his shoulders before it could culminate into defending himself. Sniper screamed, and Spy winced with that paternal type of expression that said "you tried." He grabbed the man before he could hit the ground with his full weight, and eased him to the floor. Kneeling with his pliant body in his arms he reached out, and with careful caress touched the man's cheek, fingers flinching when his bleary dying eyes flickered up to look at him. He watched, undaunted but open as Sniper parted his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Moments later the light left his gaze and Spy was sure he was gone. He smiled softly and gently closed the man's eyelids before his body could fade away.

"It's confusing the first time." He whispered, "But you've done well."

Sniper opened his eyes in the RED base, standing idly in the respawn room. His spine ached, and his mind was foggy, but he recalled the look on Spy's face before everything went dark. He had spent the entirety of last night laying in his bed, recalling his one and only kill on the Frenchman, and wondering why he felt bad for something he had been used to doing for years. But that look on his face just then- that understanding, reassuring look without a hint of regret or anger- it made him feel somehow better. He grumbled and made his way back to his nest, suddenly feeling a peculiar sense of normalcy in having been stabbed in the back at last.

Spy was there when he returned, leaning invisibly against the wall as the taller man scratched his head and sorted out his things after yet another death on the field. He stayed there, silently observing as the Aussie cursed under his breath and checked the alignments of his crosshairs after the rifle had clattered to the floor. He seemed content with them after a moment, and fired a round through the window into a passing blue down below. He checked over his shoulder as he reloaded, but saw no one there. When he grabbed the bolt handle he stopped, lowering the entire gun into his lap as Spy grinned to himself, arms folded. The sniper fiddled closely with the handle and pulled away a small paper wrapped tightly around it. Spy's smile only grew when he unfolded it and observed the contents.

Sniper stared down at the little piece of paper with the blue cursive script. He moved as if to crush it into a matted ball, but held it still in his hands before committing to any motion. The spy grinned when he angrily muttered "piss" to himself and tucked it away in his vest pocket instead. With a satisfied smile and a glow he could feel through his torso, Spy crept from the room, back to patiently awaiting Sniper's confident decision. The folded note remained in Sniper's pocket for the rest of the day, hiding away a private message

_“Business as usual._ ❤ _“_


	6. Exclusive Deal

Most people never realize they're dreaming when they are. But right now Spy knew he was, as he stood outside of a house that belonged in his past. It was set among a landscape of decrepit industrial buildings and barbed wire fences. Ivy wove along the arbor to the front door, and the window shutters were pushed open, crisp white against the soft sea green of the exterior. It was a home that looked so obviously out of place in the middle of that dirt and concrete complex that Spy was sure he was not in the waking world. His mind, half victim to the logic of a sleeping man, led him through the door and across the threshold. He called out her name, he knew she lived there. And her youthful body appeared behind him, somehow not startling him when he turned around. He looked down at her, beautiful blonde hair fixed in place and painted lips. She was an ode to youth, but she was crying. Spy felt bewildered, he'd done this before. He placed his hands on her shoulders and she collapsed into his chest, and vividly he could feel the way her small body trembled against him, soft. 

"I'm sorry..." He said quietly to her, sincerely, and averting his eyes from her form.

"You love your job more than me!" She sobbed, "Don't you love me?"

"I cannot marry you." He replied, a sour taste on his tongue.

"You're a murderer." He heard her say.

When he looked down she was gone, nothing but a space in his arms and the barren wooden floor remained. He looked up again, and a dense cluster of high-rises towered over him. He didn't remember this place, but he moved with the tenacity of someone who knew where he was going. In but a few steps he found himself in the city streets, approaching a hotel front. This place too was from another time, one which Spy could not place a finger upon in his hazy state. He felt desperate with no provocation, and suddenly he was hurrying to the elevator; he pressed the button to the top floor. He was alone with the ghosts of faceless beings playing out their roles as misty patrons and civilians. He reached the top and the doors slid open to a far wall down a decorative hallway. Two mounted lamps hung on either side of an engraved wooden portal. This scene he recognized. 

He looked down at his watch, it was a golden Rolex. His suit was deep gray with a white pocket square, and suddenly he felt nostalgic. He opened the door and entered with purpose, and a man he knew was adjusting his cufflinks before a king sized four post bed. He faced the spy, and looked at him expectantly with an angular, shaven face and fine polished features. Spy felt a bloom of excitement inside himself and approached him, touching his face tenderly.

"Will this take long?" The man asked him rather impatiently, voice like velvet.

Spy's hands froze, and his mind realized what his body was doing. "I'm sorry cher," He said, letting his arms retreat into his sides, "It's just been so long."

"Where have you been? You know we don't have time for this." The man scolded. 

Spy felt like the brittle breaks in a damaged glass pane that radiated out to its edges. The man left the room without a passing glance and with masculine grace reached the doorway. "You have work to do," He said, "save it for later would you?"

When he shut the door and Spy was finished staring, he turned to the bed which was now the only thing in the room, and remembered many nights of sleeping on it. He touched it, and pressed his open palm into the fabric. It gave easily, and he slowly sat on the foot of the mattress. He slouched there, and put his face into his hands. It wasn't enough. _Not again,_  he thought,  _no one satisfies me - my own unachievable needs. What I want simply doesn't work._

Suddenly he opened his eyes, and although he was sitting on the bed, both were now in the middle of the open desert of the badlands. He saw himself just ahead, hidden behind a lonely bus stop outside of the RED and BLU bases and peering out. He suddenly found himself there, looking out of those eyes, body invisible and tucked away behind cover. He peered, and just beyond his reach was a phone booth and a man grabbing at his brown slouch hat, leaning against the receiver. The RED sniper, his hated nemesis at the time, was making a call in the middle of the desert, and the BLU spy remembered this moment.

"Dad I know. Jus- dad just put mum on the phone alright?" He stammered, looking frustrated.

Spy crept nearer, his dream existence acting on its own in this hazy universe where the ground never met the sky in the distance.

"Hi mum... I'm alright, how've things been?" Sniper continued into the phone, "Yeah- yeah I'm doin' just fine. Really I'm fine. How are  _you?"_

Spy listened to him indulge in familial small talk, and occasionally chuckle at the surely anecdotal humor he must have been sharing. All words slurred in the fog of his dream world, and he could only feel the swirling sensations of fondness and admiration at the tone of his voice and the very private expressions he made to those he held dear.

"Take care mum... I love you too." 

Spy reached out to him when he hung up the phone. Suddenly he wasn't invisible anymore, night had fallen and nothing retained its clarity besides the vivid expression on Sniper's face as Spy leant in and touched his jaw. The sound of a bus arriving and settling with a hiss interrupted his reveries, and as Sniper moved toward him, the bus threw itself into reverse, reverberating an incessant beeping that stole away the sniper's attention. The world fell apart around the spy, and everything faded away to the sound of that beeping. He woke up to his alarm clock with a forceful wave of his arm, slamming his palm on snooze.

He groaned, it just had to be 7 am at the best part. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes and ran through the events of his dreams. It wasn't often that he remembered those faces, let alone the words they'd spoken, but Spy figured he should have expected it, because today was going to be the day he'd approach the sniper. Today he planned to ask for his response. It took effort to slide out from his expensive bedding that morning, due to the weight of his unwanted memories.

It had been a week since he offered to be Sniper's lover. The whole exchange felt more sudden now that he looked back on it. He wondered if being forward was the right way to do things, but he knew Sniper was a forward type of man. He smiled at the thought; he didn't need to worry about mind games with him, and that was freeing on its own. Spy spent extra time on himself that day, making sure every bit of him was neat and trim. He even jammed a chair under the bathroom door so he could shower with his mask off in peace. He meticulously shaved and plucked stray eyebrow hairs that plagued him now in his advancing age. He smoothed creamy products into his skin, partaking in the fresh scent and soothing feeling. It was sunny, warm, and the BLU scout was pounding futilely on the door and complaining about the time he was taking. Yes, today felt like it would be a good day. 

Unfortunately during the second match it was already proving not to be. He screamed, holding the stump where his leg had been blown off in a soldier's rocket explosion. He hissed as blood pooled relentlessly under him, and he curled up on his side, taunted by the mocking stupidity of that red-jacketed war hawk. He panted, dying as the blood loss took him. After respawning he discovered the reds had pushed most of the others back entirely and patrolled the exits of the BLU base, not allowing anyone to leave. Things only became increasingly difficult when Spy discovered the RED engineer had somehow coaxed the pyro to spend their entire day beside his sentry. He'd been blown to pieces, shot down by the spray of a heavy's minigun, burnt to a crisp, and struck in the temple by a scouts bat all within a few hours. By the third match he was doing better, however, and was emboldened by BLU team's second wind.

Late into a BLU capture of the fourth point, he felt the searing pain of a bullet in his arm while crossing a clearing. He looked around and saw no one, and thus instinctively lifted his head to the buildings, reminded that he didn't just have work to do today. He spotted the glint of Sniper's lens slink back into a broken window above, and almost felt like he'd been tagged on purpose. If Sniper wanted to kill him, he would have, just like the handfuls of other times that week. He was glad he'd been behaving about as normally as Spy hoped he would since their dinner date. He'd even caught sight of the spy's cloak near a red dispenser and coated him in a jar full of his vile jarate the other day. It effectively gave away his position and cost him twenty minutes worth of work. The sniper had laughed particularly hard that time at Spy's repulsed howls of protest. But ultimately things seemed to be going smoothly, and Spy decided it was about time to pay the Aussie a visit before the last match ended.

Spy was not one to give in to nerves. He'd been in more confrontations in all his years than even the most aggressive of common men. But excitement was different. A man like Spy was rarely treated to anything worth getting excited about. At most perhaps a new blade or revolver to wield, or a new line of suits from his favorite designer, but all were short lived. One can only imagine how electrifying it was for him to find his body shivering with energy he hadn't known since his youth. Whereas most men might falter at the possibility of rejection, Spy was a man who did not know it. He chose his battles carefully, and calculated every move before making them. As a result, those he'd chased in his eternal hunt for romance had always indulged his advances. In the simplest terms, he was far too sure of himself and too used to getting what he wanted to imagine the sniper might reject him. After all, who in their right mind would deny Spy once he was, in his entirety, determined to capture their heart? He made his way across the fourth point, fully put together and straightening himself still. He hugged the wall as the RED pyro and scout ran past, pushing forward back to mid. It appeared BLU was losing a bit of ground, but a move back to the central point would be exactly what Spy could use. Disguising as his red counterpart, he gagged to himself at the color of the burgundy suit, then crept along toward the windowed room where he'd seen the sniper last. A devilish smile pulled his face and blood rushed through his veins. 

Sniper hadn't spoken a word to Spy all week. At most he'd laughed when the man hollered curses at being soaked in jarate a day or so ago. But then again it was funny when he nailed anyone with those. He'd spent the better part of his days trying to behave as normally as he could while sorting out the turmoil in his feelings. He lost track of how many times he'd zoned out in the middle of the day while daydreaming about outcomes or possibilities. He was never good with emotions, and found that when he didn't stifle them immediately they would deny him all peace. It was too late to go back to how he was before though, he was too deep into his growing infatuations to just pretend they'd never happened. He knew that whatever he chose to do, he and the BLU spy would be different afterwards, and it scared him. He'd never had to deal with so many different desires at once in all his life, and he certainly didn’t want to lose a friend.

He'd tagged the Spy when he saw him. He hoped it would bring him by. After days of deliberation and coming to terms, Sniper at last thought he had the closest thing to an answer he could come up with. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't practice what he wanted to say for hours on end in his room, giving up in frustration only to return to the task more than once.  _I wanna be..._  He thought, snuffing out the word _loved_ for anything else,  _Everyone wants to be special to someone, but I've hid from it my whole life._ He squeezed the fore-stock and grip of his rifle in his hands, feeling suddenly how alone he was in that dark little room,  _Then here's Spy who goes out of his way to hunt me down._ His thoughts were interrupted by a creak in the wooden boards behind him, and his heart dropped as he swiveled around. He put his gun down beside himself and grabbed for his kukri, brandishing it defensively. He watched as a startled RED spy entered through the doorway, and Sniper warily raised his blade higher. The smell of rich oak and herbs crossed over to him, stronger than usual, and he tilted his head accusingly.

"I know it's you." He said, body still.

The RED spy raised his palms slightly, "Of course, I wasn't trying very hard." And following those words the fizzle of his disguise dissipating filled the space between them, and he was back to his usual deep blue ensemble. 

"You haven't paid my back a visit all day." Sniper offered, feeling more awkward the more he stood motionless. 

"Because I am feeling up for a chat today." Spy smiled, looking down at the large blade then into Sniper's eyes.

Sniper sighed, seeing the flickering honesty in Spy's eyes and lowering his weapon. "...Alright." He offered after a moment.

"Were you going to kill me with that thing?" Spy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well- have to don't I? If I wanna live." Sniper replied awkwardly, casting a look down at the large knife and feeling a twinge of discomfort at having to drive it through the spy with his own hands one day.

Spy noted his expression, and softened, "Would you feel bad?" 

Sniper clenched his fists and swallowed, gory images crossing his thoughts, "I'd get over it."

Spy blinked at that and smiled knowingly, looking over the man, "Yes... I imagine you would."

Sniper stood there feeling like a deer in the headlights of what he knew was coming. He put his kukri down stiffly beside his rifle and straightened. "I wanted to talk to ya too..."

"Did you?" Spy smiled.

Sniper swallowed again, "Yeah. About what you sai-" Before he could finish his sentence he was being pulled forward by the collar. "Wha- Spy!" He argued, stumbling as he tried to catch the rhythm of Spy's footing.

"Quiet, unless you  _want_  to be caught." Spy offered with hushed voice as he dragged the man into the hall and toward a secured looking door that warned [ _DO NOT ENTER_.]

Sniper grew panicked being outside of his nest, eyes scanning the corners and hall for others that the emboldened spy didn't seem to be concerned about. "Where are we going?" He hissed quietly.

"Somewhere private." Spy replied casually, letting go of Sniper to jam something in his hand between the door and the wall, working it inside and then using his body weight to drive his shoulder into the door. It swung open to reveal nothing more than a spacious storeroom of shelves with an abandoned table and a dusty telephone. He stepped through and held the door, beckoning the other. "Come on." He urged.

Sniper drew in his shoulders as he quickly slipped through and Spy closed the exit behind them, locking it with a click. He turned to the spy and gave him a surprised look, "Well, it sure is private..." Sniper said uncertainly.

Spy chuckled at him, and strolled past to take a seat on a questionably stable swivel chair he pulled out from behind the table. "About what I said." He took out his disguise kit and pulled a cigarette free, "You have an answer for me perhaps?" He smiled, lighting it and taking a few drags. He daintily let it burn away between his fingers as he placed his hands over his crossed knees. 

He watched Sniper stiffen, looking increasingly interested in anything else in the room besides Spy. He fidgeted with his hands before putting them in his pockets. "Uh, yeah. I think so, mate."

Spy fought the unconscious need to lean in, trying his best not to look as impatient as he felt, "I'm all ears." 

"Spy..." Sniper began, looking him in the eye, "I been thinkin' long n'hard about what you asked me." His heart began to pound.

Spy smiled, and raised his eyebrows. He was charmed by all the effort the man seemed to be exuding.

"And I decided... I can't be yours."

Once, years ago, Spy had been struck by a freight train as it was unfortunately crossing the path he was taking on a mission with BLU. In this moment, it didn't even seem to compare. Spy dropped his cigarette, and it smoldered on the floor beside his shoes. His face had fallen from his initial confidence, to confusion, to downright devastation.  

"I can't. I just can't do that." Sniper continued, having averted his eyes to his shoes, unable to see the man wilt before him. "Listen, I can't give myself to ya... I'm me own person. I love bein' who I am. I don't think I have... Hell, I don't think I got the patience to take being a  _thing_  that belongs to  _you_. I don't want that at all."

Spy couldn't believe his ears. His eyes had gone wild, this couldn't be happening. His heart drummed in his ears, this wasn't how things were supposed to go. He was careful, he was methodical and devoted, he was sure he read the signs right - he'd seen them so many times before. Spy began to stand, he felt off balance. "Sniper, I-"

"I'm not done." Sniper asserted, and Spy was suddenly knocked back into his seat by the force of words alone.

"I don't wanna be yers." He reiterated, "But..." He looked up to meet a bereft and disheveled looking Spy he'd never seen before in all his years with RED, and his heart clenched tightly, "I've considered what I feel about ya... And I think... Well, I think I think I'd be pretty happy to share a part'a meself with uh, you, specially..." He quickly turned his head at the burning heat spreading up from his neck, "If you share the the same amount'a yerself with me that is... Specially..." He could feel sweat coating his palms. "Bloody hell I know it's a round'a'bout way'a sayin' it but I- well I just don't wanna  _belong_  to ya. And- and I don't wanna own you neither.” He felt the following short silence like it was minutes long and added,  “If you can put up with me then hell, I'll have a go at bein' with you... Er... Exclusively...” He kicked his heel into the floor, “You miss every shot ya don't take right?"

Spy was silent, the air nearly knocked from his lungs. He felt warmth unfold across his face and chest and overwhelming relief burned at his eyes. He was lightheaded, and drew his knuckles up to cover his lips, unsure of what else to physically do with himself. Sniper looked up at him with all the vulnerability of a man who'd spilt his heart out. 

"Well?" Sniper asked. But Spy remained silent. "Spy?" He implored again, now with worry, but Spy merely stared at the floor. "Say  _something_..." He urged, aggravation seeping into his tone at the man's silence, but receiving nothing, "Spy... If you don't bloody answer me I'll shake it out of you." He threatened and at last the spy looked up to meet his eyes. 

Sniper was bewildered when he got a good look at the man in blue, and Spy knew it was likely because he definitely looked as smitten as he felt. Sniper's lips were parted, frozen mid-speech as Spy rose weakly from his seat. It creaked, and he left his cigarette to burn away on the floorboards. Sniper stepped back as the man approached him. _He's going to kiss me_ , he thought, and prepared himself for such, but the kiss never came. Instead their mouths passed each other as Spy rested his head into the side of Sniper's and wrapped his arms tightly around his body. The Aussie froze as Spy hugged him closely, nearly every part of his well dressed form pressing warmly into the sniper's own. He gawked, his heart thundering as he pondered just what he could be thinking. 

"Are... Y'alright mate?" Sniper breathed, thinking the air felt thicker somehow. He felt Spy squeeze him in response. "Sorry, fer ramblin' like a fool." He offered, unsure what else to say.  

"Nonsense." Spy whispered to him, close enough to his ear that it sent unfamiliar electrifying shivers down Sniper's spine. Spy pulled back and held the man's waist in his hands, "I much prefer the way you put it."

When Spy looked up with a hopeless smile and the happiest eyes Sniper thought he'd ever seen, something struck him, and it felt different than anything he'd ever experienced. "What... Do I do?" Sniper asked, the words leaving him before he could assess that they were in fact, lame. 

Spy grasped his arms, moving them, and Sniper didn't protest. His heart flipped as they were dragged around Spy's waist and hips, and he instinctively locked his hands together around him. He could have sworn he was nearly out of his body when Spy pressed their hips closer and touched at his shoulders with explorative hands. 

"Kiss me." He cooed, a gravel accent in his tone. "Prove that you mean what you've said."

Sniper shuddered, "What do ya take me for? Some flake who can't keep his word?" 

"Prove it."

Sniper looked at him sternly; ready to rise up to his challenge. But the confidence didn't last when Spy parted his lips and beckoned him with dark and half lidded eyes. He felt himself giving into his nerves, and pressed forward slowly, tentatively, until he'd shut his eyes completely and pushed their lips together. The sensations flowed through him, and without thinking he tightened his hold on the spy, pressing harder still into the energy of his kiss.

Spy held back a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Oh, the sniper was clumsy, and oh he was desperate and chaste. But it was easily the most memorable of kisses he'd ever shared. He could feel his lips tremble against his own, and he gripped the man's shoulders tighter, digging in just to keep from losing himself and breaking all the walls down at once.  _He's not very good at this_ , Spy thought,  _but oh I just know it's real._  He pulled back, just a bit, just enough to make the sniper wonder. Then just like that took back control, slipping Sniper's bottom lip between his own, sucking gently and smoothly and coming back for more, pressing his teeth into the supple flesh, and pulling a quiet sound from the Australian who held him. Sniper went weak at the nipping and gave way, pulling them both down toward the floor to both of their surprise.

Sniper broke the kiss and his hold on the other to catch himself as they fumbled, but Spy seemed to move like liquid into the motion and slid effortlessly over him, leaning in with wet lips and rosy skin. Sniper looked sheepish, "Your suit'll get dirty down here-" He warned, feeling too familiar with Spy’s insurmountable tidiness. 

"Please Bushman, I don't care right now." He rumbled back with a greedy glint in his eyes.

 _That's new._  Sniper reeled, "You seem happy." He panted quietly, and Spy lit up at him, staring with a surprised smile before chuckling and pressing him further into the floor.

Spy softened as his body closed in. "Aren't  _you_?" He asked, but Sniper scoffed and looked away instead of answering. Spy laughed smoothly in his throat, "There's no need to be so nervous, Sniper." He mewled, "I'm just a person." 

Sniper regarded him seriously at that, and recalled the way Spy looked in the dull glow of the restaurant lights just a week ago. Spy watched him with sympathetic and precise eyes, but he looked away, down at the space between them, all curves and lines and bunched up fabric, and Spy leaning neatly between his spread thighs.

"We're just people huh...?" He said quietly and Spy kissed him again.

They talked a long while in that dark and dusty room, even when the announcer declared BLU's victory, even when the battle outside went quiet for the day, and even when the last rays of sunlight began to hide over the mountains. They spoke of Sniper's reservations about shooting the spy, and the professionalism with which they were to approach the next day. They spoke of agreements, mostly of keeping work and privacy as different realms in their minds. No one came looking for them and nothing but the chill of night settling into their bones would move them. As the twilight befell the silent battlefield, they sat beside each other against a wall. Only the dim light of a high placed window revealed their forms pressed together shoulder to shoulder.

"How do  _you_  do it Spy?" Sniper asked him.

"Do what, exactly?"

"Kill me n' not feel... Bad."

Spy snapped his head over to stare the man down, "You think I do not feel bad?" But Sniper gave him a perplexed look. Spy sighed, but bounced back with a confessing smirk, "Of course I feel bad. If I could, I would much prefer not to kill you. But work is work mon ami, and as long as you don't hold a grudge against me for doing my job, then this is enough for me to get by."

"I see..." Sniper responded thoughtfully, "How long 'till it feels normal then?"

"Not long," Spy assured him, smothering the end of a spent cigarette into a bucket beside him, "you'll find the temporary nature of our deaths here will numb away the regrets in time."

"You felt the same way I do then?"

"I did, and in a way I still do, but we both know there's no reason to dwell upon it." He sighed, lighting another cigarette immediately and taking a particularly long drag.

"This is a little fucked up innit?" Spy heard Sniper mutter beside him, and he raised his eyebrows at the curse and smiled.

He laughed through his nose, "So is this entire God forsaken war, over gravel of all things."

"I s'pose you have a point." Sniper sighed back. 

Spy looked at him fondly, and he turned and looked back. The dark shadows over their faces couldn't hide the mutual expressions they both seemed to be casting at each other.

"If I must be mundanely killed on a daily basis by anyone," Spy cooed, voice lowered as he lifted the filter of his cigarette to Sniper's lips, "I believe I'd prefer it be you."

Sniper looked down curiously at the smoke, then cautiously pulled Spy's hand to his mouth as he took an indulgent drag. "Is that 'coz I'm yer favorite?" He prodded as smoke rose from the words.

Spy merely chuckled at him and returned to smoking, leaning back against the wall and watching the sniper from the side of his vision. He didn’t bother hiding the grin on his face as he filled his lungs with tobacco, and Sniper caught on with a breathy laugh of his own.

He hummed and smiled warmly, "I reckon you're my favorite too."

Spy watched him still, chest rising as he breathed in the nicotine and falling with bellows of smoke from his lips that danced into their demise in the air. He shuffled in the darkening space now aglow with the artificial flickering of an outside light fixture. Then he was on the sniper just between his long bent legs, and the sniper stiffly let him in, mere inches apart.

"You have no idea." Spy whispered with a light rasp, and reached up with his gloved hand to push his fingers into the tufts of hair that sat on the back of his neck.

Spy reveled in the way Sniper squirmed when he explored his neck and arms, taking another kiss under which he melted. His chest felt full at the realization that the other was pliant in every way beneath his touch, an empty vessel in which he could pour every drop of his affection. His musing lit the familiar fire in his core that drove his hands further down, testing the boundaries in very youthful abandon. The Aussie's nervous and unsure gripping and dragging with his own unpracticed fingers spurred him on, and before he could decide whether he should, he was rubbing his palms up and down the sniper's inner thigh and pushing his tongue past the others lips. Although he felt him jump sharply as he did.

Sniper broke the kiss apart abruptly with a squawk, "Blimey hold on! Wait!"

Spy froze on the spot and eyed him, waiting for some sort of answer. "Is this not what you expected?" He asked with concern in his voice.

"No no that's- It's nice just-"

 _"Nice?"_ Spy parroted with a quirking brow.

"It's  _real nice,_ " Sniper corrected, rolling his eyes, "but just... Maybe we could take it slow...?" He glanced away bashfully with a blush across even his ears, before looking back, imploring.

Spy blinked at that flustered, messy, red, and endearingly coy face of his and thought,  _You do not understand how big of a request that is._  He was taken aback by his incredible ability to look like a sweet old mutt, shiny eyed and overjoyed to be petted. The spy brought his hands up from his legs to straighten Sniper's collar. "Very well, slow it is." He replied matter-of-factly. Sniper nodded, and Spy leaned in to hover just before his lips, head tilted. "May I?" He asked with teasing politeness.

Sniper furrowed indignantly, "Ya don't have to bloody ask." He said, and Spy smiled. 

They kissed once more, briefly, as Spy meant to stay true to his word. He was astounded at himself for acting so hastily in the first place, and blamed it on his lack of partners in his later years of life. It was all so exceptionally refreshing that it was nearly reverting him into his past self, foolish, just as he used to be. He stood up and steeled himself like the mental equivalent of brushing himself off after a stumble. He reached out with open palm and offered a hand to the sniper still seated against the wall. He took it gratefully and allowed himself to be pulled forth to his feet. They exchanged silent looks that displayed their acute awareness of everything they'd just said and done to each other and the implications thereof. 

Sniper, feeling bolder after everything he’d just gone through, leaned back to get a good look at Spy's legs and smirked, "Your pants aren’t lookin’ too good mate.”

"Don't." Spy interrupted, knitting his eyebrows and closing his eyes. "I don't want to know."

Sniper laughed and shrugged, and Spy rolled his eyes just to keep himself from sneering down at the dirty patches he knew were on his knees. Sniper stuffed his hands into his pockets and seemed to be waiting, encouraging Spy to say something. Spy sighed and tightened his tie, then touched his finger to his chin thoughtfully before reaching out to Sniper who twitched as he pushed his hair neatly back in place. Spy seemed to come off just as touchy as Sniper had imagined he'd be, and yet, the Aussie couldn’t find it in himself to feel bothered by it.

"Bon assez," Spy sighed, looking the other over, "I believe that is enough excitement for one evening non?" 

"It is pretty dark... Crikey how long have we been out here?" Sniper flicked his watch into view and squinted at it, trying to make out the number hands in the poor lighting.

"Long enough." Spy offered back, "We should go lest you rouse suspicion."

"Me? What about you?" Sniper frowned, feeling singled out.

Spy gave him a stern, wide eyed look as he lifted his own left wrist to display his watch. He wiggled his arm back and forth, and Sniper took just a second to put two and two together. His watch didn't just tell the time. 

"Piss, I forgot about that." He exhaled, shoulders going slack as he noted that he was the weaker link between the two of them when it came to secrecy.

"Yes, you did. But regardless, we should be going." 

Sniper nodded in agreement, but scratched at his neck when Spy prepared to depart, with a look of reservation as he watched. Spy tilted his head, wondering if perhaps, just maybe, Sniper didn't want him to go, then cursed himself for being so tempted to stay. 

"Until tomorrow, Bushman." Spy assured him softly. No, he wouldn’t dare take everything at once. "Adieu."

"Yeah... 'Night then." Sniper shrugged at him as he vanished into the night with a quiet whoosh.

Sniper stood alone in that room for a moment afterwards, letting the draft from the opened door cool his hot skin and bones. He wondered what he could call this new feeling, and where all of this was going to take him, but mostly he wondered how he would explain coming back from the field with all his equipment at six in the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special self-indulgent **bonus chapter** that I decided to write can be found [HERE!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9867137/chapters/22136879)
> 
> The linked content isn't necessary to know for this main story, so really I'm just treating all of my readers to some optional _smut._


	7. Whiskey Sour

"I thought we agreed to be professional." Sniper mumbled into his scope.

The BLU spy was kneeling on the crate behind him, leaning over his side with gloved hands comfortably resting on the taller man's shoulders. He was watching him fire shots out of a broken section of wall just above the central point.

"Pardon my interest in your work." Spy retorted sarcastically, "I’ve just slaughtered your unholy pyro and that insufferable boy. Is it a crime to catch my breath?"

"We're right above the bloody point." Sniper snorted and fired, "Someone's gonna notice you're up here."

"Would you prefer I kill you too?" Spy hummed thoughtfully, "Because I have no quarrels if that is what you want."

Sniper reloaded, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting under Spy's grasp. The spy fingered at the rippling under his clothes and squeezed softly, making the Aussie tense.

"Quit that would ya?" He ordered, embarrassed by the intimacy, "Yer makin' it harder to aim." 

Spy sneered at him, raising his chin and releasing him at once. "Very well. I will take my leave." He huffed, mildly annoyed. "But the next time you see me, I won't be so easy on you." The dark of seriousness tinted his voice, and the sniper shivered. 

Sniper turned his head to watch him leave. It was clear he'd struck a nerve. He wanted to say something before the spy went out of his way to make his work harder for it, but he couldn't think of any words to say. He sighed as Spy quickly vanished- too late now to correct anything. He slouched; he'd known the other for a long time now, but somehow being so personal with him felt like completely new territory. He meant well, he really did, but there was nothing more unnerving to him than being out in the open. As little as Sniper protested to the Frenchman's affections, and as much as he unconsciously enjoyed them, he wasn't willing to let him hang around too closely at work. He wasn't that kind of risk taker.

Two weeks passed since he agreed to start seeing the Spy. Sniper had expected him to steal away passionate kisses in dark corners or recite horrible poetic verses of infatuation by this point. He assumed the French followed the rules of all those horrible romantic dramas, but for the most part nothing had changed. Sure the spy gave him the occasional curt kiss or compliment, but those things Sniper handled well. He concluded that Spy had taken his request for slowness to heart, but something felt missing about it all. He shook it off with a sobering sound and got back to work. 

_He'll be back soon enough to kill me,_  he thought, firing out of the splintered, broken wall,  _it's just like a game._  He squinted.  _A morbid, bloody fucked up game._  He sighed again, looking down at his kukri beside him. It would all become normal soon enough. Of course, within the hour he was stepping out of RED's respawn and rubbing his hands into his face in frustration. He’d been so distracted with a nearby BLU engineer attempting to set up a teleporter behind his lines that he didn't even think Spy would strike. The mongrel always had impeccable timing. He was always watching, and always where you didn't want him to be. 

Last Thursday had been a difficult day for the both of them. That day Sniper had seen the spy during the last few minutes of the last daily match. He'd caught him creeping up from behind that time, and as the instinct for survival dictates, they had a scuffle. Neither of them yielded as they fought for dominance over the situation, two men of pride and deadly skill battling for control. In the end, Sniper had grabbed Spy by the suit and thrust his kukri forward, only to recoil when he felt the flow of warm blood run down his hands. He saw the pale shock on the other's face and released him. He'd stepped back, and his blade was wedged into Spy's stomach. He could only witness as the man collapsed to his knees, hands fixed on the metal he did not have the power to remove. Sniper had panicked then, apologizing and dragging Spy up against the wall as he died. He threw off his hat and glasses in haste and fumbled with his hands on the others wounded body, unsure of just how to help. But the spy had reached up weakly to still his frantic hands. He'd stopped him and told him to remove the knife from his mangled innards. Blood poured from his mouth as he told him not to worry.  _It's only business_ , he assured him before he died,  _I'll be back._

The evening after, Sniper found he couldn't eat, and couldn't sleep. Somehow even after all the times he'd used his kukri to end the blue Frenchman's life, that afternoon was different. That afternoon he’d really paid attention to the gruesome details for an unknown reason. He was the first to rush out of battlements the following Friday morning, and finally found relief when he'd seen Spy alive and well through his scope. He didn't shoot him that time; he told himself it was for the sake of being polite. 

Spy's ways of separating his work persona from his private self were significantly more advanced than Sniper's own. The man could be kissing him one moment then acting like violent lifelong rivals the next. But he always came slinking back seeking affectionate company, and Sniper always let him. For someone whose job it was to conceal himself Spy was not adept at hiding his obvious soft spot for the reserved and awkward sniper now that he'd admitted to having it. The once sarcastic and severe French ponce had become a significantly more expressive, excitable, and sentimental French ponce. Even the socially inept sniper could spot the subtle changes he seemed to be bringing about in the man, and he could admit it made him feel special.

It was another week now, totaling three since they'd paired up. Spy was standing with his arms crossed, looking annoyed at a packing Sniper in his tower roost. 

"What’d’ya mean I don't kiss ya?" Sniper asked, genuinely confused.

The spy looked down his nose at the other, "Name one time you've kissed me since our rendezvous in the storeroom." He frowned.

"What're you on about?" Sniper defended, "I kiss ya back every time!" He grew pink. He couldn't believe the words he was having to say.

"Returning a kiss is not the same." Spy frowned harder, "It's been a month. I'm beginning to think you aren't actually interested in me."

Sniper bristled, "Now wait just a bloody second..."

"Perhaps you aren't interested in men at all." Spy grieved, sounding upset.

"Are you havin' a laugh?" Sniper tensed, forcing his voice to a harsh whisper, "That's the only reason I can do this at all!"

"Do what?"

"This!" Sniper gestured broadly between them, then relented and slouched back into a bench behind him. "It's just- I've never- Gah, you bastard I'm still gettin' used to it's all!" He rubbed his face.

"You've never done this before?" Spy asked gently from beside him. 

Sniper turned away, he didn't answer, and he wouldn't. Spy took a seat beside him and Sniper looked anywhere but his direction. The spy scooted over flush against his hip and shoulder, and the Aussie grunted dismissively at him, feeling hot. When Spy put his hand on the other's thigh the Australian just wanted to hop over the railing and let respawn carry him away on impact with the ground. He really considered it.

"But you do want this non?" Spy asked him seriously, and despite Sniper's silence he continued, "I want to show you, you know... But you must give me something to work with."

Spy grew less confident in Sniper's desire to try with every passing second of silence, that is, until Sniper turned to face him with the same look he gave a particularly important target on the battlefield. Spy's eyes grew wide, blinking curiously as the Australian stared him down with a burning fire. When the sniper leaned in with tilted head and focused gaze, Spy's heart almost fluttered away.  _Ah of course..._ He thought as Sniper pressed his lips into Spy's with a purposeful gentleness, _I should have known._ They closed their eyes at the fleeting pressure against their skin, and Sniper took what he could with a slow firmness that embodied his determination to succeed without a single word. 

When they separated, the fire had calmed into an interested flickering, "What else should I do?" Sniper rasped.

Spy let his eyes open slowly, contentedly, "Whatever feels right."

The sniper lifted his hand and Spy could see it falter as it wondered where to go. It settled slowly on top of the hand the spy held on the Aussie's slender leg. Warmth seeped through the black fabric into Spy's skin, and he was astonished with how moved he was at such a simple gesture. When he looked back up at Sniper, he'd been waiting for him to meet his gaze.

They shared a silence, and Spy broke it with a playful smirk. "You're a natural."

More days passed with the usual mundane warring, and Sniper was beginning to get the hang of his unique relationship with the BLU spy. He was beginning not to think so much about the blood and the gore, accepting it as merely temporary effect rather than ultimatum. Of course it would still be a short while until seeing the Frenchman's innards stopped making him queasy. But the temperature was rising and the snows became rains across the mountains and valleys. He'd since moved his belongings back into his camper, and soon enough he'd be on his way to setting up a camp site. Everyone seemed to be performing better at work, and Sniper was making an effort to perform better at being a lover. He found he couldn't fail as long as he did something. Be it touching Spy's head when he'd rest his chin on his shoulder, or idly patting and nudging him when they spoke, almost everything made the blue scoundrel purr. Today however, the spy was anything but pleased. He paced the floor relentlessly after gathering a streak of kills he didn't even appear happy about. The RED team was left in pieces after he'd rampaged through them on a big push with his butterfly knife in the air. Sniper had been impressed, but Spy clearly didn't care.

"You're startin' to get distractin' ya hot-footed wallaby." Sniper mumbled to him as he shot down the enemy sniper running out of BLU spawn.

"I am not one of your bush rabbits." Spy spat back, never stopping his stride and furiously smoking like a chimney.

"Should I say frog then?" He smiled slyly to himself, reloading as a casing clattered across his feet. 

"Oh shut up." Spy sneered, unamused.

"Alright," Sniper interjected, "What's wrong?" He lowered his rifle and pulled back to get a clear look behind him. He arched his eyebrows at the temperamental foot tapping nature of the spy.

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong. What makes you say that?" Spy replied disinterestedly.

"You look...." Sniper chose his words carefully, "Troubled." 

Spy gave him a stern look, but caved at the concerned expression plastered over the Australian's features. "Perhaps." He admitted, pressing his fingers into his temple.

"D’you know what? You look like you could use a drink mate." He nodded, pleased with his analysis.

"Really Bushman that sounds..." Spy rolled his eyes, but stopped as if to ponder before returning his attention, "Rather nice actually." 

"Yeah?" He lit up, "I know a bar right nearby." 

That evening they arrived in Spy's car at his insistence. It was a fancy, shiny little thing that Sniper had been anxious to so much as scuff with his boots. The spy had his reservations about Sniper's taste in locale, but at least he could now depend upon the slow burn of alcohol to sooth him. His frayed nerves detested the rural, back woods look of the establishment, but for the sake of a hard drink he let it slide. The lighted sign read " _Alpine Tavern_ " and boasted beer, ales, wines, liquors, and cocktails beneath. Sniper came off as right at home when they'd gone in, and as endearing as Spy found that chipper attitude, nothing could shake him from recoiling in disgust at the dark and stuffy interior.

Sniper was certainly feeling in his element visiting a place he actually frequented since they'd been stationed in the town just a few months back. He even recognized some of the faces out of the handful of patrons. He felt very in-control of the situation until some of those faces noticed his guest, and began to stare. He remembered then that a man in a tailored suit and mask was an oddity in a town of mountaineers and craft makers. He tried to ignore the attention the best he could, but Spy exuded such a powerful atmosphere that even Sniper found himself ordering scotch over his usual beer in response to the other's whiskey sour. The sniper tried to act like he couldn't notice any looks the bartender was giving him, knowing it was obvious that his company came off as someone important.

Despite the scrutiny, they talked of teammates and personal lives under the jukebox music. Sniper reminisced about Adelaide and Spy vaguely described his youth spent riding his bicycle along Paris streets. Spy was amazed to find, when admitting he played piano, that Sniper played the tenor saxophone. After the first drink Spy was poking fun at the red argyle sweater vest Sniper had worn out that night, and the sniper retaliated with a quip about wearing a suit to a small town bar. They jabbed back and forth, about prissy car this and filthy outback that, the use of truth serum cigarettes, the insane requirements of their contracts and the like. Spy was finally loosening up, and it was beginning to show. About three drinks later their conversations were devolving into the slander of their particularly bothersome rivals. They both laughed rather hard as they dug at the RED spy's good name in unanimous distaste. Spy had quite a bit to say about him, but Spy had quite a bit to say about most things once you got him started.

The BLU looked over at a small ruckus happening beside a pool table and game of darts. He was stricken with a slightly drunken idea that curled his lips into a mischievous grin. Sniper knew the look, he'd seen it about a hundred times or more, and his first instinct was to deny whatever Spy was thinking before he even said it.

"Don't." He warned, nursing his drink.

"Hear me out first cher." Spy smiled, zeroing in on the dart board.

"Did you just call me a chair? Look, whatever you're thinkin', don't think it."

"You're a skilled marksman aren't you?"

"You're damn well right I am."

"Are you just as accurate with darts?"

"Why…?"

Sniper wasn't sure how he'd gotten roped into it, but soon enough he was taking part in hustling a group of big looking guys in a game of darts. Spy played the wingman, convincing the men so easily that the sniper was a novice that even Sniper himself questioned if he believed it. He played into the gimmick, too deep in the ruse to back out now. He played terribly -by his own standards- for the first go, and then absolutely buggered it on the next. By the time the half drunken crowd had reached stakes upwards of a thousand dollars total in wagers, Spy gave the Aussie the go-ahead and the real attempts began. 

"No way this'll work." Sniper whispered to the spy as they stood to the side.

"Just make it convincing." Spy smiled, downing what was left in his cup.

"Is that your fourth drink?"

"It might be my fifth."

"Crikey." Sniper shook his head, whatever had been bothering the spy must have been something.

Somehow, despite the pressure to underperform believably, the rest of the rounds went surprisingly smoothly. Spy played off Sniper's increasing skill at a distance with some lie about far-sightedness, and the men were resentfully convinced, laying down their lost wagers. Spy hummed happily as he counted up the cash in his fingers and Sniper approached him with an air of complete disbelief.

"Bloody hell." He scratched at his neck.

"Mh-hmm."

"A whole thousand?"

"Indeed."

"I almost feel bad."

"Why? Because a herd of reckless gamblers took a risk?"

"I said almost." Sniper smirked, and Spy looked at him with a hazy gaze and smiled back.

Spy pressed the stack of bills into the Aussie's chest, and he reflexively grabbed them, holding them with a confused look. The Spy took a seat and rested his arm against the bar counter, and Sniper looked down at the money. 

" _That_ is yours." Spy smiled, head lulling slightly to the side.  

Sniper looked around, then at Spy. "At least take half." He whispered, feeling impolite. 

"That's quite sweet of you, but my reward is the thrill."

"I really don't need this."

"Honestly Sniper you misunderstand why I play these games."

A voice bellowed from behind the two, grizzly and accusing. "So you call this guy the 'sniper' huh?" The pair turned to find a burly man and two of his friends close by. "Red n' blue eh? You wouldn't be them mercenaries we been hearin' about up north would ya?"

"I believe you have us confused with someone else gentlemen." Spy offered coolly, unperturbed.

"Yeah? Well I believe you two are a couple a' no-good merc scum playing me n' my friends here out of our money." 

"It's just a game lads." Sniper reasoned, "We don't want any trouble."

"Hustlin's  _askin'_  for trouble chief." The mountain man growled, drawing nearer and covered by his two large friends.

Sniper backed up as the group began to corner him; his eyes flickered back and forth looking for a way to slip by. He suddenly remembered the drunken Spy and turned so he could motion him to escape, but he found the Frenchman was gone.

_Bloody- you've got to be kidding me!_ Sniper seethed. 

Spy had slipped away and run. Sniper bristled; he should have known those slimy backstabbing pikers couldn't be trusted. Even after a month of being sweet on him, he had the nerve to hang the Aussie out to dry like this. He should have known he'd never change, in the end spies only cared about themselves. He turned, furious, and widened his stance. These guys were big but they were no Australians. He really wished he'd brought his kukri all the same however, because a three on one bare knuckle brawl was hardly fair. He raised his forearms in front of himself as the burliest of the three lunged toward him, ducking past one punch and leaning away from the next. Sniper made a grab for the incoming blow and used the hefty man's forward momentum to twist his arm and pull him down. He stumbled, thrown off balance just long enough for the lanky Aussie to put even more space between himself and his assailants. He was panting, heart racing, he never liked bar fights, and he knew there was no way he could win. The burliest man stood back up to his feet, and they all spat colorful curses while plowing forward once again. One of the shorter men behind the clear pack leader suddenly screamed and fell to his knees, drawing the other two's attention. He fell onto his face, and Spy stood over the gaping bloody wound in his back.

"Pardon me." Spy said wickedly, brandishing a bloody balisong. 

The two men gawked, stricken by the very much dead corpse of their friend on the ground. Sniper gawked with them, looking shocked and relieved at seeing the spy swooping quickly toward him.

"Time to go." Spy commanded as he pulled the Aussie's arm with an astonishing amount of strength Sniper often forgot he had. 

They were running through an open back door and getting into Spy's car before the two other men could deduce where they'd gone. Sniper realized the engine was already running when they got in; Spy had preemptively slipped away to create an escape path. The sniper didn't even have time to process all of it before he noticed the men piling out of the back door behind them in the side view mirror, now joined by a couple others who witnessed the murder at the bar. He opened his mouth to tell Spy to floor it but was quickly jostled in his seat as they peeled out of the parking lot and down the dark hilly road. He gripped for dear life at the armrest and door handle as the fast little car maneuvered the curving street.

"You're gonna kill us sooner'n they are!" Sniper yelled at him, seeing the headlights of two other cars pull out of the distant bar.

"Oh calm down Bushman," Spy scoffed, pressed back into his seat and focusing as hard as he drunkenly could on the road, "no need to yell."

Sniper was turned around in the passenger's seat keeping an eye on the distant lights. He was knocked onto his backside by a harsh turn that Spy wheeled into hard, causing the tires to screech and the car to carry sideways around the bend. Sniper thought he could see his life flashing before his eyes; there was no way respawn computers reached out that far if this killed him. He suddenly realized he was screaming and his glasses fell from his face. The car turned again and once more he was knocked back, pressed into the door as they slipped into a dark and gravelly roadway. Sniper willed himself to stop his screaming when the car began to slow along the rocky path, and once they were deep into the trees, Spy stopped them and turned off the engine. Sniper looked at him with horrified, wild eyes in the darkness.

"Are you quite finished?" Spy asked him, resting an arm on the wheel.

Sniper panted, eyes flickering all over the other's person before focusing again. He didn't speak, but nodded and sank like a melting snowman into his seat. Spy watched him curiously, and they both stilled with anticipation as the sound of two cars speeding past them echoed through the silent alpine forest. When the rumbles of the engines were long gone, Spy let his hands fall into his lap and his head rest tiredly against the seat.

"Did you have to stab him?" Sniper finally said between tired breaths.

"Hm?" Spy turned his head languidly, "Is that even a question? It's what I do."

"You just made 'em angrier!" Sniper huffed.

"Oh do excuse me for saving us monsieur how rude of me. Next time shall I leave you to handle things yourself?"

Sniper's heart clenched. He'd assumed the spy had left him there at the bar to fend for himself. He misjudged him unfairly only to be proven very wrong. In the end Spy was taking every measure to assure they could escape unharmed.

"No... No, you're right." Sniper sighed, guilt once again burdening him over his hastiness to react. "Thank you. You saved my arse… Even if it was your bleedin’ lies that pissed ‘em off."

He looked up at the shuffling sound of clothes and Spy was there edging up close to his face. Sniper's heart shivered and he half closed his eyes, knowing what was happening. They kissed, and Spy crawled over his seat all the while to press in closer. Sniper felt hot after all the excitement, and the energy made him grip at the man and pull him in without much thought. He parted his lips and Spy nibbled and sucked, breath thick with liquor and chin course with stubble. Sniper returned every motion, every nip and tug and slow taste. Spy pushed further then, pressing the sniper into his seat. The Aussie held on to the door handle to stabilize himself as his whole body was overwhelmed with Spy's invading presence. Spy worked his mouth open, and in a scotch-induced haze Sniper allowed him to. He screwed his eyes shut at the slick hot sensation of Spy's tongue entering his mouth, pressing against his own tongue and gently laving over it. He felt heavy, blurry, tingly all over, and experimentally teased back, inspiring Spy's hands to begin pulling at the Sniper's shirt and buttons.

He was washed away now, even when Spy slid his tongue out from between his lips, even when he felt cool air touch his chest. He sighed a shuddering breath as Spy ducked down and suddenly there were warm kisses being pressed into his neck. Spy hummed and Sniper made a strangled type of noise at the way it all surged through him at once.

"You're devastating, cher..." Spy slurred from below his jaw, hands roaming Sniper's sides.

"You keep callin' me a chair." Sniper said, furrowing his eyebrows at the clearly drunken man.

Spy stopped then, and Sniper wondered if he'd said something wrong. But then the man quivered, and after a moment the Aussie could hear the quick hitches of his breath. He was laughing.

Sniper rubbed his hand into his tired eyes, and sighed. "Bloody hell you’re full."

"An interesting choice of words." Spy mused as he returned to lavishing the Aussie's neck, pulling a surprised throaty sound from him.

Sniper squirmed and tensed at every petting stroke and wet kiss. His mind suddenly caught up with him in the fog of passion and he was hyper aware of every motion. The position of Spy's pelvis pressing into his leg made him freeze. He shifted, trying to pull his body further away but the enthusiastic spy only took it as an invitation to explore his middle. He panicked; not only did he not know the first thing to do and risked looking like a thirty-some year old virgin, but he could think of a hundred better places and times to do this. He could feel heat pooling in his stomach and he felt the anxiety force air into his lungs.

"Slow down…" He was suddenly pleading. "Wait!"

Spy stilled, his fingers hooked into the waist of Sniper's pants. He looked up at him with a pitiful disbelieving expression. They stared at each other, and slowly Spy pulled away. Sniper sat up, it's not that he didn't want to offer the man what he wanted, it's that he simply couldn't mentally bring himself to. It was terrifying even if it thrilled him. Sniper just wasn't that kind of risk taker. He caught his breath, finding his glasses in the dark and slipping them onto his face again. He didn't need them to see, but rather to hide. He looked at the spy who had shrunk back into the driver’s seat, gripping at his own arm hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

"Spy?" Sniper called quietly, making out the upset look on his face.

"How long will you make me wait?" Spy asked him, voice slurred with a mix of European accent and bourbon.

Sniper felt yet another pang of guilt. It was true, he'd put off getting intimate in any way simply because he wasn't sure how. He felt like a coward. "Just... A little longer." He voiced quietly, feeling ashamed of himself.

"Do I not excite you?" Spy whined, the alcohol coaxing out his deeper confessions.

With a sympathetic expression, Sniper gathered his nerves and eased across toward the disheveled spy. "That's not it..." He used the most reassuring voice he could muster for a ruthless assassin, "Yer drunk, ya crazy spook. A quick naughty in yer bloody car ain't exactly romantic."

Spy looked up at him with eyes that sought out the comfort the other was offering. Sniper wasn’t one to care for romanticism, but he wasn’t keen on doing anything crammed into a small car.

"Ain't that what yer all about?" Sniper smiled softly.

Spy stared at him, and Sniper was sure the look he was giving meant that he'd made a good enough point. He felt responsible now, for the way Spy nearly curled up in on himself at being denied his search for passion. He awkwardly crawled closer, all long limbs and cramped movements, and pulled the man toward him by the arms. Spy gave in to the force and allowed himself to be tugged into several kisses upon his exposed face and a slow embrace. He felt drained and smitten, stable and off-center all at once. Sniper held him even after, and the warmth of his body seeped into the drowsy Frenchman's bones.

"A hotel." Spy mumbled into the other's shoulder, and Sniper shifted his head curiously. "Next time, a hotel. With a proper bed."

Sniper blinked, processing, before chuckling rather nervously. He couldn't lie to himself; the bastard was charming like this. But now he couldn't keep running, this was a battle he'd face head-on. He wondered if this was the cause behind Spy's troubled mood. With the sad and complacent Frenchman sighing into his chest he knew it was his responsibility to take it seriously. Perhaps he was not as steel-willed and accustomed as he let on, perhaps the man was just as frightened of all this as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find a NSFW **bonus chapter** posted separately [HERE!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9867137/chapters/22677656)
> 
> As always, the linked content isn't necessary to know for the main story of STSC. Enjoy some smut!


	8. Burnt Up

He began enjoying mornings again now that he’d moved back into his camper. Ever since the birds had returned for the approaching spring, the barren winter mountains repossessed their picturesque life and light. Unfortunately, this particular morning, Sniper missed the silence as he cradled his dully aching head. He lumbered, swaying toward a small refrigeration unit on the floor once he’d slipped out of his lofty mattress over the cabin of the van. He muttered malcontented curses as he rummaged for a bottle of water and sat at the bench seat of his fold-out table to down it all. The night before affronted him with the tenderness of bruises that he’d collected from Spy’s perilous driving. He shook his head at the thought that he was now a local accessory to murder, but it was nothing new to him, and at least he wasn’t burying bodies this time. Granted, trouncing a crowd of drunken fools in a game of marks had been fun, but now he’d probably have to drink in the next town over.

Despite the minor inconveniences the Frenchman caused, Sniper smiled, appreciating the way Spy looked out for him even when they played sworn enemies at work. He could swear he still tasted the sweetness of the others tongue in his mouth while he affectionately reminisced of the way he’d restrained himself for Sniper’s sake; even drunk he really was one hell of a considerate man. Sniper honestly regretted being unwilling to appease him, as much as he really wanted to. He’d felt shamefully selfish when he’d returned to the privacy of his camper afterwards and recalled preceding events for his own carnal uses. Now it was morning, and the numb pain in his forehead persisted. Dehydrated and burdened, he wondered how the spy in question must have been doing that morning. He could only imagine how he was holding up having drunk twice as much as the sniper did. He ignored the taunting voice in his head calling himself a mother hen as he got up to make an extra strong pot of coffee; just in case the dramatic Frenchman paid a hung over visit to his position later and needed a pick-me-up.

He cursed when he found the coffee machine in the van simply wouldn’t turn on, it’d been on the fritz for weeks. He’d have to make a special trip to the base and he never really looked forward to those. Dressed and washed up, he stepped down from his doorway onto the cushy grass. At least the pleasant green of spring would console his aches until he got his hands on a medical kit in the battlements. He’d set up camp among the trees far enough away that even if he yelled at the top of his lungs no one would hear him, and that was just his minimum. When he’d reached the mess hall he was surprised to find everyone was gone. There was ample time left before the morning match, but while Sniper wondered where they’d run off to so early he couldn’t complain about the quiet. He set up the coffee maker and made a particularly strong batch for the BLU spy’s sake, but upon waiting decided that he’d investigate the strange disappearance of his teammates. He discovered the door of a weapon stock room was ajar and upon nearing it, heard familiar voices. He adjusted his glasses and slouch hat before walking in, feeling unwelcome when the entire RED team turned around to face him with expectant expressions in the dim light.

“Did I miss something?” Sniper asked awkwardly, curling his upper lip.

The engineer looked around to be sure no one else was stepping up to speak, then nodded, “Yer gonna wanna see this pardner.”

The others returned their attention to a soft glow that backlit their silhouettes and Sniper crept forward. Before the mercenaries was the lifeless body of a man in a dark suit and hat with a portable television strapped to his chest. Blood covered parts of the illuminated screen, obscuring the image of the Administrator that looked out disapprovingly at the lot of them. She seemed to eye the Sniper as he filtered through and frowned.

“How nice of you to join us.” She offered disinterestedly. Her analogue voice came out hollow from the speakers as she spoke, “As I was saying, due to the unfortunate circumstances, you will all be transferred to a new station at the foot of the mountains. Travel arrangements have already been made, and you are to take nothing but your personal belongings.”

Sniper knew there was no way she could be, but the harsh old woman almost seemed as though she was staring right at him. It unnerved him and made him wonder if this was about what he and Spy had done last night.

“Question.” Soldier blurted from among the nine. The Administrator gave an exasperated look and he continued, “Permission to bring Lieutenant Bites?”

“Who is…? Oh never mind, I don’t care.” She frowned in response, “Personal belongings only. Whatever you leave will be disposed of. You’ll be transferred within forty-eight hours, oh, and for the last time-  _stop killing my messengers_.” She switched off the transmission with that grating command and the room went dark.

Immediately the complaints poured in, even if no one was shocked. It was nearing time to be transferred either way, and they'd been moved prematurely before. Almost everyone had one gripe or another about it though, and the scout in particular wouldn't stop complaining about leaving some poor girl in town that would likely be glad to see him go.

"What exactly was all that about?" Sniper asked the engineer as they funneled toward the dining area.

"What? You mean you didn't see the protestors?" Engie asked, shocked. 

"Protestors?"

"That’s right, I reckon you’re campin’ too far out to hear ‘em. A whole heap of 'em are gathered outside the gates." The short man explained nervously, "They look mighty unhappy. Heard a merc was out in town'n killed a fella. Ya'll wouldn't know anything about that would ya?" Engie asked him innocently.

Sniper shook his head in response, there was no way Engie could have known the Aussie went out last night, "News to me, mate. Where is it they're sendin' us?"

"Down south. Some sort’a gravel quarry at the foot'a the mountains."

"Ain't it always a gravel quarry?" Sniper asked playfully, and Engie laughed.  

Spy was having trouble getting his usual rhythm on the job that day. When he tried to sap and stab the RED engineer, he missed and was blown to bits by his sentry. When he disguised as the enemy pyro, he was caught by them and burnt to an awful crisp. That was his least favorite way to die. One might imagine respawn would clear his hangover, but since he'd absentmindedly clocked in with it that day he was left respawning with it every time he died. The system was finicky that way, and he'd have to wait until his shift was over to fix the problem. He'd tried to visit his dear sniper early on but as soon as he stepped foot through the door the Aussie had gotten his head blown clean off by his BLU counterpart. It got blood on Spy's suit, fantastic. 

After a grueling day the spy had finally made time for one more visit, he'd regretted not only spoiling one of Sniper's few favorable places, but apparently causing the entire operation to relocate. He'd been overwhelmed with the feeling of foolishness and guilt since he heard the news. He took a flight of stairs up to the spot he'd seen the sniper last, and walked in on the Aussie holding a jar full of urine at the ready, aimed at the doorway.

"Mon Dieu please no!" Spy cried.

"Oh Spy, it's you. I thought you were that bloody BLU soldier back fer more." Sniper remarked, lowering his unsanitary weapon.

"Merde." Spy sighed, placing a hand on his chest, "If you had thrown that revolting thing I would have killed you."

"Heh, I don't doubt that." Sniper smiled, "You look better than I expected you would after last night."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Rough day?"

"It is a challenge to get around when your team keeps leaving their corpses in my way."

"That ain't very polite of us is it?" 

"Quite rude."

"Not all of us can die in a million bits from sentry fire like you can mate."

"You saw that." Spy sighed.

“Sure did.” Sniper laughed, sitting a moment longer before the look of recognition straightened his body and he slinked back from the railing. “Say, did ya hear the news?”

“The transfer? Yes, it seems our little skirmish has caused quite the controversy.”

“ _Our_ skirmish?” Sniper sneered, “Yer the one who killed him.”

“You invited me to drink.” Spy argued back nonchalantly.

“Yeah to drink, not get into trouble.”

“Such things are not mutually exclusive.” Spy retorted, and Sniper groaned. Spy approached him to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “My only regret is that you can no longer visit a place you enjoyed. For that, I apologize.”

“Gah, I only liked it ‘cause it was close by.” He assured.

Spy looked around as he always did, and as he worked out the basic floor plan of the room he noted the glass pot of coffee still half full and cocked his head at it as Sniper returned to working. "You always finish your coffee." He observed.

He didn't notice the pink blooming on Sniper's face, "You're welcome to have some if you’re still feelin’ seedy."

Spy looked at the coffee pot, then down at the empty mug beside it. He thought for a spell and picked up the container, inspecting the scent of it. He eyed it curiously and picked up the cup. "Did you leave this for me on purpose?" He asked, pouring some out.

"What? No." Sniper defended.

"Did you?" 

"No."

"Did you?"

"Shut up and drink yer bloody coffee piker."

Spy smiled and lifted the cup to his lips, "I normally detest cold coffee." He took a drink from Sniper's mug, "But this one is too good to pass up."

"Shut yer cake-hole." Sniper scoffed.

"It's exceptionally strong."

"Maybe that's how I like it."

"Merci beaucoup, Sniper." Spy sighed, leaning on the other softly.

Sniper mumbled something under his breath, and although Spy didn't know what he said, he chuckled regardless and sipped the cool black liquid. He felt warmth in his cheeks; that dirty outdoorsman certainly knew the way to Spy's heart, even if he was unhurried about it.  _How domestic,_  the Frenchman thought,  _almost as if we were not in the middle of a war zone._

"Sorry if it ain't sweet enough, I don't much care for sugar." Sniper mumbled looking through his lens.

"Oh Bushman please, any more of that and I'll be forced to pull you into another storeroom." Spy sighed, putting down an empty cup and lighting a cigarette.

Sniper swallowed hard, his felt his pulse skip, "What's with you and dark cramped spaces?" 

"I forget your natural habitat is a wide open field to graze upon." 

"Oi."

Spy chuckled, "That van of yours is dark and cramped non?"

"It's compact." Sniper grumbled.

"May I see it?"

"What?" Sniper turned his head.

"May I see your van?"

"I thought you hated my camper."

"I have nothing against it personally. It's simply not to my tastes."

"So why d'ya wanna see it?"

"Because it is yours."

Sniper was shocked to say the least. He remained shocked even when he agreed to Spy's visit, and even when he came back to his camper after work. He found himself cleaning up for the first time in a while, sorting out his meager belongings and putting away scattered kitchenware and mail. He didn't feel much like himself scrubbing down the stovetop and sink. He felt more like his mother when they were expecting guests back at the house. No one had come to actually see his living space since he'd bought the damn thing. He wasn't a terribly messy person but he wasn't very fickle either. He hoped the smell of soap would air out before he got there.

When Spy arrived that evening he knocked on the door, and Sniper opened it, and they said hello, and it was all so extraordinarily normal. Sniper let him inside and was relieved to see Spy neither grimaced nor recoiled in disgust. Spy was, in actuality, pleasantly surprised. The interior was mostly wood - although Sniper didn't seem to bother polishing it - a vinyl floor with some repeating gray patterns, fixed lighting in the ceiling and red upholstery. It was a far cry from the tribal animal skin decor Spy half expected, and even came off as quaint. Spy looked around as Sniper fiddled with his fingers apprehensively. He didn't know why he cared so much about what the spy thought, but for some reason he couldn't help but want to appease him. It must have been that overpowering presence again. 

Spy smiled at Sniper, and he arched his eyebrows in return. "It's much larger on the interior." Spy marveled.

"Uh yeah, s'pose it is. Enough fer me anyway." Sniper scratched at the side of his nose.

"Tidy as well." 

"What'd you expect? That I live like some sort’a animal?" 

"I did not know what to expect."

"Well, there you are. Nothin' fancy."

"It's charming." Spy commented genuinely, walking further in to inspect the table, counters, and bed. "Mon Dieu," he gasped as he stepped up a rung on a short ladder to look at the mattress, "how do those legs of yours fit in there?"

Sniper felt highly scrutinized if not a little self-conscious about his long legs. He hadn't really known what to anticipate from the spy, but now that he was looking in to every little thing as spies always do, it was getting harder to keep his cool. "It's bigger than it looks." He offered. "Oi what are you doing?"

Spy was gingerly climbing up into the very personal space the sniper slept in nearly every night, among other things. He pursued but stopped short of the bedside, sighing as the Frenchman was already lying back in his sheets. For someone who held manners in such high regard he sure was quick to forget them when he wanted. Spy folded his arms up behind his head in the pillows and crossed his legs, making himself far more comfortable than he ought to.

"You were right, it's far more spacious than it appears." Spy smiled at him, turning to face the other who disapprovingly shook his head.

"You've made yourself right at bloody home haven't ya? Ya mongrel."

Spy smirked at him, and looked around the space once more before dipping his neck to inhale into the pillows. Sniper tensed and floundered. "What are you bloody doing now?" He gasped, mortified that the man was literally sniffing the bedding the slept and occasionally sweat on.

"It smells like you." Spy hummed, letting his body relax into the bed.

Sniper grew red, "Is that a bad thing?"

"Non." Spy smiled, letting his eyes lull closed.

"What does “me” smell like?" Sniper asked quietly, leaning against the mattress with his arms as he stood on the ladder. 

"You."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Everyone has a scent, Bushman."

"I guess... But, it ain’t bad right?"

Spy opened his eyes and laughed, making Sniper even more flustered than he was. "Not at all you silly kangaroo." He said as he edged up to Sniper's face and tenderly kissed his forehead. Clearly he caught on to the self-consciousness. 

Sniper frowned and stepped back, "Whatever you say." He blushed, "But get down from there would ya?" And Spy obliged.

Sniper told him to stay put as he stepped outside before it got dark. He was gone for all of three minutes before coming back to Spy at the table flipping through an album of photos he'd somehow found in that time.

"You nosey little bugger!" Sniper snapped, "I leave for a bloody minute and you've already gone through my things!" 

"You were quite the scrappy young boy." Spy smiled, ignoring his irritation, "These are your parents?"

Sniper dragged his palm down his face, groaning and surrendering once again to Spy having his way. The snooping snake had already seen the pictures now; there was no use in hiding them. "They're my folks yeah." He admitted, sitting beside the other as the spy made room for him. 

"How sweet, I see your crooked smile hasn't changed." Spy mused and Sniper rolled his eyes. He turned the page. "What a shaggy head of hair- Good Lord, is that a buck?"

"Yeah... First one I shot all on me own."

"You don't look more than ten years old here. Your father taught you I presume?" 

"That's right, the old man taught me everything I know. The rest was practice." Sniper smiled fondly.

The spy flipped through most of the black and white images of trophies and family outings rather quickly, smiling without realizing Sniper was watching every expression he made. They'd discuss the occasional interesting snapshot, and Sniper recalled each story to the best of his abilities. But near the back, as the pictures of the sniper showed him progressively getting older, photos of two different recurring girls beside him appeared on a single page.

“Girlfriends?” Spy asked, trying not to snicker.

Sniper fidgeted, moving to grab the album but Spy pulled it away before he could. “That’s enough-“ He struggled, but Spy held the book away from him and peeked closer.

“Good Lord! They have mustaches!” He screeched.

“Gimme that bloody thing- Aussie sheilas all look like that! It was secondary school!” He stammered, pushing into the Spy then reaching over the table. The playful jostling caused a loose photograph to flutter from the pages.

"Who is this?" He asked, letting the other snatch the album away. Spy picked up the image of Sniper and another young man with their arms around each other’s shoulders looking no older than twenty.

Sniper leaned over curiously, but his face dropped when he saw the content of the image. "Oh..." He responded flatly, "Nobody. Not too sure why that's still in there."

Spy immediately picked up on the change of mood, "You had a falling out?" He asked, more interested.

"You could say that." 

"Perhaps an old lover?"

Sniper's heart stung, "No." He said gravely. He looked over to find the piercing x-ray eyes of the Spy digging into him. He fidgeted. "He was just... A mate." He continued.

"But you are not now."

"He's not too fond of me's all."

"Why is that?"

"Oh for God's sake why are you so bleedin' meddlesome?" Sniper snapped angrily, and Spy's hand froze. They went silent, and Sniper looked away.

Spy released the picture to settle limply against the table and the air went thick. "That was impolite of me. I apologize." He said with a tone of professionalism.

"No- no." Sniper interrupted, exasperated, "I've never told anyone's all, I don't mean to be a wanka." He exhaled and rested his elbows on the table, putting his face in his hands. "We were good mates, best mates...” He mumbled, and Spy watched attentively. “We did everything together. Campin’, nickin’ cigarettes, sneakin’ out with girls even though I wasn’t keen on ‘em.”

“It sounds as though he was a dear friend.” Spy consoled.

“Then I went n' fell for him.” Sniper grimaced, and Spy blinked in surprise. “Things started makin’ sense after that. But once we finished school he was gonna move away.” He sighed and slowly lifted his face to look distantly at nothing with weary eyes. “I needed to kiss him just once before he left, y’know? Just one time." He sighed heavily, "But he socked me right in the eye, called me a bloody queer n' I never heard from him again." Spy cringed, “He cut me off just like that, like I was nothin’ after that. I was lucky he didn't go n' tell my parents."

"Sniper-"

"Put me right off ever tryin' that nonsense again."

"Sniper..."

"As if I didn’t like people enough before that."

"Sniper."

"What?" He turned his head languidly, sapped of all his energy, and then Spy kissed him.

He closed his eyes, the warmth washing away all of the memories and replacing them with the subtle smell of cigarettes and the feel of leathery gloves on his neck. Like a curative, he felt Spy cleanse him of the bitterness and cold of his thoughts. They parted with a dewy smack, and Sniper took in the masked man, in awe of his restorative touch. 

"Some things are best left in the past." Spy comforted him softly as he adjusted the collar of his red shirt, and Sniper felt more at home then than he had in a long while.

They put the album away, and stepped outside together as darkness fell over the forest. Sniper lit a fire, and sat flush beside the other on a dry fallen log disposed of when the complex had been in use. He held Spy's hand when Spy gave him the picture of himself and the boy, and he squeezed his fingers when he tossed it into the flames. Spy wrapped an arm around him when it burned away to ashes that dispersed into the cool spring air, and as the dying orange embers mingled amongst the stars, the spy really understood why the sniper was so fond of the outdoors. Sniper rested his head against Spy's shoulder while he told him stories about the craziest trips he'd ever experienced. Spy held him firmly about the waist while he offered back descriptions of beautiful exotic locations he'd been to. When the night fully took hold, Spy had convinced the Aussie to play him something on his saxophone, to which Spy applauded, dazzled by the smooth jazzy melodies that echoed into the firs and pines. When at last the blue departed, Sniper grabbed him before he stepped away. With wanting eyes he pulled him in with the strength of a captivated man to kiss him again. Spy left smiling, and Sniper went to bed that night feeling indisputably whole.

The move to a new base was always tiresome, as the mercs were expected to do their own packing and carrying. It would take them a few days to settle in to the new fortress of machinery, rubble and rocks. Sniper had it easiest, as pretty much everything he owned was already on wheels. The new complex was enormous, with some very nice long sight lines by the looks of it. It had two bases connected by tracks, which could only mean BLU would be delivering payloads to the RED side of the map for the next few months. But at least it meant he would only have to defend rather than capture any points, which was half of the work. The takeaway was that he'd be doing a lot more moving around.

It was the first match on the new site and RED was already losing. They hadn't anticipated the payload to be an unstoppable train, and more than one of Sniper's teammates had blundered because of it. Although the time Scout became wedged between a wall and the cart, then blown to bits by a stray grenade was a little amusing. Sniper had been stabbed thrice by the supremely confident BLU spy already, and the fourth time he heard the decloaking hiss of his watch he was ready with his kukri in hand. He swung around, knife splitting through the air, cutting just short of the BLU spy's tie. Sniper stilled seeing the man's palms up before him in a peaceful surrender and slouched.

"Ya can't just kill me all day then surrender before I can get my revenge." He groaned, sloppily sheathing the oversized blade.

"Do forgive me, I will give you a chance to shoot me when I go." He smiled, "If you can guess the path of an invisible man." 

Sniper snorted and grabbed his rifle, holding it by the grip and adjusting his brown fur felt hat. "I'll take that as a challenge." 

Spy chuckled at him, but it was a strange sound. He brushed it off and took aim down his scope, he found the windows in the buildings there all had thin glass easily broken with the stock of his gun. He felt hands touch his sides and he jerked, fumbling with the weapon. 

"What the-?" He turned, and Spy was pressing into him now, arms snaking around the other from behind, "What is it?" 

"You've been standing every time I've stabbed you, why don't you sit down." Spy smiled, and Sniper side eyed him suspiciously. 

"What's this all about? Are you distractin' me on purpose?" He cocked a brow.

"Not for my team's sake." Spy smiled, and Sniper shook his head.

"I get a free shot on ya if I sit." 

"Deal.

"While you're visible."

"Merde. Fine, deal."

With that the Sniper sighed and plopped down on a stack of wooden boxes. Spy raised his chin at him and lifted the hat from his head, setting it down and stepping around to his back. "Today is Friday." He reminded casually, gripping the Sniper's shoulders and squeezing.

Sniper wriggled under the pressure and furrowed his brow, "Uh, yeah. We're off tomorrow."

Spy began digging his thumbs into the muscle of Sniper's upper back, "You could use a break Bushman," he curled back at the pleasant sting of Spy's hands, "the tension in your shoulders is astounding."

Sniper groaned reflexively, and winced as Spy worked his fingers deep into the tight muscle of his arms and neck. "Now I know you want something." He grumbled, allowing every relaxing push.

"Who, moi?" Spy chimed innocently.

"Nah the bloody floorboards." Sniper quipped and felt a warm kiss on the shell of his ear. Spy pulled back the collar of his vest and peppered kisses along the hot skin there as his fingers massaged along his shoulder blades. It was becoming clear Spy was starved for attention. "We're workin' Spook." He mumbled, face going warm under the onslaught. 

"Not for much longer." Spy breathed, releasing his grip on the other to slide his hands down his sides. The marksman shivered. 

"This is hardly the place to-"

"I know. I wouldn't." Spy whispered and Sniper could hear his grin.

He felt heat overwhelm him when Spy dragged his palms up both of his thighs, and he was just about to stop everything when the other slipped away, leaving him cold. "What was that all about-" he swung his hand up in confusion, but Spy took hold of it instead. Sniper narrowed his eyes and furrowed when the Frenchman bowed and planted a kiss right on the dusty palm of his hand. "Uh..."

"Au revoir." He smiled and vanished before explaining anything.

Sniper sat stupidly, unsure of just what had happened. He looked down at his palm, and found a paper there. _When did he...?_ Sniper thought, and picked the little blue note up to read it.

 _"I promised you a bed._  
_I will be waiting for you here tonight._ ❤  
  
_3790 Bear Paw Road_  
_Granville King Hotel_  
_Room 104"_

Sniper's stomach sank; it seemed Spy was starved for more than just attention. He could suddenly feel a hot burn in every place Spy had touched him. The warmth of his lips lingered on his palm and neck as he looked back out of the shattered windowpane. There was Spy, disguised as the sniper himself, casually waiting down below. He stiffly lifted his rifle. They could say what they wanted about that sneaky ratbag, but he was a gentleman of his word in every way. Sniper charged up his sights, and shot him fatally in the heart.


	9. Dim Light

This was it, everything the sniper had been nervously avoiding for the last two months was happening tonight. He was either going to really enjoy this evening, or really, really regret it. He concentrated hard into a foggy mirror, pulling the blade of a straight razor down the bottom of his sideburns. He carefully neatened the edges with a practiced hand, stripping away the shaving foam on his face. He’d considered once or twice that he could always busy himself as a barber if he tired of this whole assassin thing, he had the steady fingers for it. He rinsed off what white remained on his face in the sink and looked hard at himself as he rubbed aftershave into his skin. His hair was still wet; he’d taken a shower just moments before and scrubbed parts of his body he’d never washed so thoroughly in all his years. He ran fixative through his hair, taming the front and back into place as usual. None of the ritualism was any different than what he always did and yet he still felt he was making a big deal of things. He wanted to punch his reflection right in the nose for looking so worried.

Once back in his van, he pulled out a thin closet door tucked away in the corner to reveal a tall lonely mirror covered by random articles of hanging clothing. He thought he looked fine in a plain shirt, but unrest nagged at his insides to change into something different, something flattering. He’d stared himself down in at least four different types of similar outfits, growing increasingly frustrated that everything he owned looked the same. His every attempt at looking attractive was proving unsuccessful.

_Why am I doing this?_ He thought, frowning at himself standing in socks and an undershirt. He saw Spy in his mind. _Because I like him. No use lyin’ to yourself, you like him. Possibly a lot._ He looked over his physique under the fluorescent lighting and sighed, _I gotta try._

He rummaged deeper into the shallow closet, finding a jacket and tie he’d worn only once to the interview for his current occupation. He hummed interestedly when he tried them on, picking at the details and looking almost satisfied with what he saw.

He cleared his throat. “G’day…” He said out loud, timidly, “You look nice…” He frowned, no, that sounded dumb. He straightened and put on his best grin, “Evenin’ Spy… I must say you look… Eugh.” He grimaced at the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d arrive with flowers and chocolate; he wasn’t trying to woo the guy. He turned left in the mirror and hummed thoughtfully, then right, and then away, aggressively stripping everything off. _That’s it,_ he hissed, _I ain’t goin’._

He went anyway. He settled on his best shirt tucked into a pair of slacks, and left his sunglasses and hat behind. He drove under the street lamps of a much larger city than the one RED had moved from. The roads became highways and the city center had far too many stoplights. He couldn’t really focus; he was never good at planning under pressure and his mind reeled with expectations. He imagined walking into the hotel room to find himself surrounded by burning candles and Spy splayed naked on the bed, beckoning him. He couldn’t decide if that would be bad. The man never gave Sniper any hints about what kind of role he wanted the marksman to play, or maybe he had and the sniper was just too oblivious to catch them. Whatever Spy wanted from him, he’d have to settle for the Aussie’s blatant inexperience with men. He worried his lip at the thought of being disappointing, and worried it harder at the thought of being disappointed. He could fantasize all he wanted but he still wouldn’t know what the real Spy was like in bed, or whether bedding men was his thing at all. Apprehensive as he was, he couldn’t run anymore, he couldn’t take anymore shame in being afraid.  He swallowed down his thoughts and drowned them out with the radio, pushing a spearmint candy past his teeth at a stoplight.

To his relief he found the white three-story hotel fairly easily and walked past the check-in without any badgering. He took the lift to the third floor and found himself outside of a white door with a shiny metal plaque engraved with the number 104. He heard himself swallow, expecting to have his clothes stripped away the second he crossed the threshold into the room. He physically shook off his tension and knocked as confidently as he could. The spy’s familiar, albeit muffled voice curtly instructed him to come in.

Shockingly, Spy was sitting fully dressed in an armchair with his ankle crossed over his knee. He was smoking and reading a newspaper. A rocks glass sat on the desk beside him, but the contents looked untouched. He raised his eyes to Sniper when the door opened, and flashed a lazy, devilish smile as the marksman shut the door and stood stalk still across the room.

“Welcome.” Spy smirked, looking back down to presumably finish the article he’d been reading, “Do make yourself at home.”

Sniper wasn’t sure what to make of the atmosphere, or how to feel, but he did know he really needed to stop sweating. He stepped further inside hesitantly, scanning the décor. The room was spacious with one large bed, chairs, a table, a couch, and an armoire. Across from Spy he spotted the bathroom through an open door, and funnily enough, two unlit candles on either side of the bed. He was positive this had to be the nicest room they had available.

“This looks pricey.” Sniper mused, trying to break the ice as he awkwardly sat down on the edge of the bed. “Knowin’ you, it would be.”

“I spare no expense on matters of importance.” Spy said, attention fixed on the print of the paper.

“I’m important am I?” Sniper laughed breathily, trying to make light of his predicament.

“Yes.” Spy returned seriously, eyes never leaving his paper. The bold response made Sniper shiver.

Sniper forced a smile, “You look uh…” He felt his cheeks heat up, “Nice…” He grit his teeth realizing how he sounded, _Bloody fucking stupid._

Spy folded the newspaper with a rustle and put it by the glass beside him. “I should hope so, I make it my business to look _nice_.” He eyed the sniper sitting rigidly on the bed, looking as though he wasn’t even listening. “You don’t have to sit so far away Sniper, I don’t bite.” He stood from the armchair and held his cigarette loosely in his fingers, “Unless of course you would like me to.”

Sniper didn’t need to think about what that meant. The velvet with which it was said sent heat through his whole body. “Look, er… We both know why we’re here yeah? Let’s just get it over with.”

“Try to contain your excitement.” Spy frowned sarcastically, “I can tell you’re simply overjoyed to be here.”

Sniper’s face got hot; his choice of words always seemed to come off the wrong way. “It- I mean ain’t it normal to be-?”

“Nervous?”

Sniper flushed pink, he was exposed. “Yeah.”

He heard Spy sigh, and when he looked over to him, the Frenchman had stripped his blue jacket and was approaching in a vest and shirt. “Sniper, why did you come here?” He asked, stopping in front of the bed.

Sniper craned his head to meet his gaze. “Well you asked me to didn’t you?”

“Is that all?”

“What?”

“Is that the only reason you’re here? Because I wanted you to be?” He looked impassive inhaling the tobacco in his grasp.

“I…” Sniper didn’t know how to respond, “We’re a thing ain’t we? Ain’t I obligated?”

“No.” Spy said flatly. “You aren’t. I don’t own you, remember?”

Sniper pressed his lips together, he was right, they’d agreed to those freedoms from the start. He fidgeted under that steel gaze. “I guess then… I’m here ‘cause I wanna be.”

“Do you truly want to be here?”

“I do, but…”

“But?”

Sniper winced; he couldn’t just say he was both excited and afraid. “It’s just… New.” Spy cocked a brow at that and Sniper felt inclined to continue, “It wasn’t all that long ago that we were just mates. Now yer gonna- we’re gonna-” He froze at the sinking of the mattress as Spy took a seat next to him and began pulling off his gloves. Sniper propped his heels up on the bed frame and sighed. “Just, why me?”

Spy shook his head, and looked across the room at something Sniper could not see. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching memories play back before him. “Why you?” He repeated.

“Yeah… I’m not your type am I? What makes _me_ so special?”

Spy braced himself on an arm and leaned back, “Type hm? May I tell you a story?”

“…I don’t see why not.”

“Years ago, I was a lusty scoundrel of a young man.” Spy noticed the way Sniper’s mouth twitched knowingly, so he sighed. “I slept around with more women than I can remember. Men as well, although they were scarce.” He looked down at the gloves in his lap as if searching for words. “Eventually I grew up. I sought companionship. Sex alone would never fill the emptiness I felt.” Sniper listened, and rolled his thumb into his palm thoughtfully at the words. “I’ve worked in espionage for a long time mon ami. I’ve killed more men than I care to admit.” Spy’s tone became grave, and Sniper could only nod when Spy looked at him with a firm glance. “Women love with grace and abandon. But they demand a man who will settle down. They expect you to become a father, raise children, forget who you were. More than once I’ve been asked to give up my life’s work for these… Sentiments.” He looked down, “That is something I simply cannot do.”

Sniper squeezed his hands together, and tried to ignore the insinuation that Spy could be disappointed in his lack of feminine grace or abandon. He remembered instead, that he too was no stranger to the pressure of family. He begrudgingly pushed away the times his parents asked him when he’d bring home a nice girl. He then fought the memories of the girls he attempted to date in secondary school only to break up out of guilt when he inevitably felt nothing for them.

“So you stick with men?” Sniper asked quietly.

“I turned to men in my field of expertise. I found many of them quite open minded.” Spy continued, “But men of our professions, they are cold. We have to be if we take our work seriously non?” He took a long drag as something hard crossed his features. “Distant. All of them. Empty promises and meaningless words that amounted to nothing of value. I was, how you say, a quick fuck.” Sniper winced at the phrase. “I had accepted that I could not have my cake and eat it as well. So of course, I simply gave up on romance. That was years ago.” His voice tapered off, the hint of his accent under every syllable. He then turned so sharply to the sniper that it made the Aussie jump. “Then you. You came along and I _hated_ you.” He said, and Sniper frowned, a bit annoyed despite the truth of it. “You were barely human to me. Repulsive, uncouth, aggressive-”

“I get it.” Sniper scowled.

Spy cleared his throat, “Yes well, that was before. Then one day I caught you making a phone call at some dirty old telephone booth in the badlands. I snuck out to listen, for blackmailing purposes of course.”

One corner of Sniper’s mouth curled down in a disapproving sneer. “Of course.”

Spy ignored it, “But the more I listened, the more I realized you were quite the well mannered and thoughtful man.” His tone was gradually growing brighter, and Sniper leaned in just a bit, “Every week I would find you there, calling your mother and father. I was drawn to it somehow, amazed that the disgusting wild-man I despised could sound so polite- so affectionate and articulate despite your… Grimy, Australian surface. Ever since then I hadn’t known what to make of you. I prided myself in knowing everything about my enemies and yet, your true nature eluded me. You turned out to be more unpredictable than I gave you credit for. You were more than a mere mercenary.”

Sniper swallowed hard, he hadn’t noticed when his heart began to hammer the way it now did. “You eavesdropped on my private calls.”

“And for that I apologize. Truly.” Spy returned, leaning in closer to the other. “But I will never be sorry for what I found.” He looked up into the sniper’s blue eyes, swallowed now by black.

“And what would that be?” Sniper asked gently, his subtle annoyance dissipating.

“I found precisely the companionship I’d been searching for. I found that I wanted _you_.” Spy answered breathily, “ _I’ve never met someone like you.”_

Sniper’s lips parted to speak, and Spy watched them with a dark eyed hunger. But the taller man turned away instead, rubbing his hands into his face and groaning. It shocked the spy who wondered if he’d said too much, pushed too hard, or worst of all, lost his trust. He hadn’t meant to suffocate him. He’d done everything in his power to give the man his space for so long. Sniper was a bit like an abandoned stray, running from contact, withdrawing from intimacy, despite being acquainted with them deep down. Spy had known this early on, known to be straightforward and accommodating. Oh the patience it took could only be rivaled by the patience of a worn and solitary sniper.

“You’re too much.” Sniper mumbled, and Spy felt a wave of worry that he’d come on too strong.

“I don’t mean to smother you.” Spy reassured him sadly.

“No- you bloody git. You’re more than I know what to do with!” He exclaimed, letting his fingers drag down his face and chin. Spy started, but steadied when Sniper turned to him with an almost desperate expression. “You, the untouchable ritzy wanka with all the right words! You always know what yer bloody doin’. Yer bleedin’ gracious n’ snotty n’ proper. You could have anyone ya wanted couldn’t ya?” He ranted, “And you come along when I don’t expect nothin’ n’ ya pick _me_ , the last bloody fella I’d expect ya to…” He breathed, “What’s a bloke like me supposed to do?” The speech went quiet at the feel of skin against his cheek.

Spy graced his cheek with ungloved hand, feeling out the warmth radiating from it. “I’ve told you before. Do whatever feels right.” He reminded softly.

“What is it ya want?” Sniper furrowed, looking increasingly frustrated.

Spy turned on the bed, his knee dipping into the sheets as he pushed his arms over Sniper’s shoulders and around his neck. “I want everything you have to give.”

So Sniper kissed him. And Spy kissed back. And all the frustration, affection and greedy desires of their confessions were articulated in a slow dance of hot tongues, hands, and moving hips. They fell back into the bed, Spy poised on all fours over the marksman’s body. They were panting, starving for nearness.

“Wait.” Sniper croaked.

Spy’s face drained of all emotion at once, and he could feel his right eye twitch as he looked down at the marksman. There was a deafening silence between them, and neither moved save for the rise and fall of their chests. Sniper’s eyes briefly widened when the atmosphere dawned on him.

“The neighbors.” He corrected. “Won’t the neighbors hear us?”

Spy couldn’t have felt more relieved if he tried; all of the tension in his shoulders from the fright of being denied ebbed away. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d been rejected yet again after getting this far. He looked down at the sniper in an offended fashion, and the marksman looked up at him with a hot and awkward face.

“Give me some credit.” Spy scoffed as he lowered his body closer to the other’s, “I’ve booked both of the neighboring rooms as well.”

“You’re mental!” Sniper gasped, “How much did all this cost?”

Spy frowned at the lack of reciprocation he was getting for pressing closer, looking annoyed that expense of all things was on Sniper’s mind. “First you claim I waste money on useless things.” He huffed, rising back up to perch high over the sniper’s body, “Now I invest in something that benefits us both and still you are not satisfied.”

Sniper squirmed, the man had a point. “That’s an awful lot of trouble for something keeping quiet would solve.”

“Sniper, if you are being quiet then I am _not_ doing my job.” Spy smirked, watching the sniper’s eyes turn to saucers at the Frenchman’s innuendo.

Sniper’s heart was racing, he felt frozen in place. “The lights.” He rasped lamely after a beat, stalling just for a second more.

Spy blinked at him, “Off?”

Sniper shrugged, feeling even fussier than he made the spy out to be. “Is’at… Alright?”

Spy couldn’t hold back his smile. He was getting better acquainted with the Aussie’s latent self-consciousness since he began delving into his personal space, so he understood. It wouldn’t bother him at all if the man needed a bit of darkness to feel comfortable, it was almost innocent. He sighed and pecked at the crease in the marksman’s brow. “Bien sûr.” He hummed before slipping from the bedside.

Sniper squinted at the response, whatever it meant it looked as though he’d get his wish. He eyed the Spy’s curvaceous backside as he sauntered across the room, and it sent a rippling of want through his body. His attraction to the masked assassin certainly hadn’t wavered with time, quite the contrary. Spy pinched the light switch between his fingers, and turned to look the sniper in the eyes and smirk before flipping it. Sniper shuffled to the edge of the bed in the pitch blackness; maybe it was a bit too dark. He could only just barely make out the spy’s silhouette in the little bit of white light that filtered through the drawn curtains. He could vaguely see the Frenchman’s movement, and heard the rustle of fabric as he seemed to be stripping away more clothing on approach.

The spy could sense the delicious shudder in Sniper’s breath and chuckled fluidly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the engraved silver lighter that had more or less started all of this, months ago in the snow. He clicked it to life and lit the wick of the closest candle, the orange glow colored them warmly in the deep blue of night. Sniper was looking up at him expectantly, sitting on the bedside and fiddling with his fingers. The Aussie bit into his lip when he peered at the vest and tie behind the spy on the floor. That type of wanton indifference about his wardrobe seemed so voraciously unlike him. This was a Spy he’d yet to meet.

“Better, mon loulou?” Spy cooed happily as he leaned down to unbutton the marksman’s shirt.

Sniper’s breath hitched, this was it. There was nothing left to do but roll with whatever happened next. But something seemed off, or missing, or perhaps more accurately, unsaid. He processed the words that spilled affectionately from Spy’s lips, and locked eyes with the man until the spy’s movements stilled.

“Ben.” Sniper whispered.

Spy’s eyes looked over his face in confusion, a hint of panic unfolding beneath them, “What?”

“My name. It’s Ben.” He repeated, trying his best not to break his stare or let his voice falter. “Bennett, actually. But, y’know…” He glanced away, damn, “Ben’s fine.”

Spy released his grip on the buttons of the man’s half undone shirt, leaving the bit of hair on his chest just barely exposed. He stared down at the skin showing under the unbuttoned clothing and the feeling of dread set in. Even with the delight of this new development, he was crippled with the fear that Sniper would demand his invaluable name, more personal to him than his own physical body. As much as he cherished that charming, wonderful, wild man, he could never bring himself to so casually share something that dangerous to them both. He felt cold run through his blood, but the concerned hum of Sniper’s voice snapped him out of it.

He looked up, “You… Don’t expect me to…?” Spy asked soberly, quietly, eyes pleading for a “no” lest the sensitive topic spoil the entire night.

“Oh...! Nah- no, no.” Sniper floundered awkwardly, making sense of Spy’s reaction. “No worries, really, I get it... The whole spy, identity thing.” He scratched his neck, “I didn’t mean to put ya on the spot. I just- I reckon I just wanted ya to know, before we, got on with it.”

A sharp sigh punctuated the spy’s relief. It then manifested in frantic touch as he firmly eased the man backward, forcing him to scoot to the center of the bed while he climbed up on his knees to straddle him. “ _Bennett._ ” He said enthusiastically, the wisp of his accent and urgency making it sound worlds different than when Sniper said it. Spy couldn’t have been happier to erase the passing panic from his mind with the sound of the gunman’s private, personal name.

“Er, yep.” Sniper laughed breathily to Spy’s slow and easy grin. He felt the weight of his presence swallow him up. “Ben’s fine.”

“Not Bennett?” Spy asked as he let his hips sink down to rest atop Sniper’s pelvis.

Sniper squirmed, heat rising rapidly from his lower half up into his neck and face. “N-Nah… That’s too proper in’nit?”

“I quite like it.” Spy whispered, dipping down to lightly kiss the Aussie’s pensive lips.

Sniper’s eyes grew hazy, and it was getting difficult to think. “Call me what ya want…” He slurred between the quiet puckered sounds of eager kisses, every nerve in his body jittering with energy.

“Repulsive Bushman?” Spy teased, trailing kisses along his jaw and feeling out the terrain of Sniper’s upper body with his palms and fingers.

Sniper huffed at him unconvincingly while his shirt was being pulled away, “Filthy Spook.” He shot back, a smirk defying the tone.

“Hm, humor me.” Spy hummed against his neck, “Tell me, what is it you _like_ about moi?” He felt Sniper’s hands latch on to his arms and squeeze.

Of course, Sniper should have expected the man got off to flattery, it was almost comically appropriate. “You… got real nice eyes?” The sniper grinned sheepishly, craning his neck to allow better access for the teeth that pleasantly scraped his jugular.

“Tell me more…”

“Fer a bloke whose job it is to kill me, yer awful sweet on me.” Sniper snorted.

Spy laughed gently against his skin, “Oh? Go on…” He allowed the sniper space to turn his head and rub his cheek into the fabric of the blue mask. The spy nearly purred into the chaste gesture.

“I like what ya do with yer hands.” Sniper rumbled, letting his own hands find the buttons to Spy’s shirt and begin working them free.

“Ha!” Spy guffawed, “I assure you, I am only warming up.”

Sniper chuckled, his heart was filling so quickly he couldn’t stand it. Buried under the anticipation and excitement was a spilling sea of affection in his chest. Spy too was practically submerging in the waves of enchantment and all-consuming desire. Every delicious fidget he pulled from the marksman drove him further down his bare chest, kissing feverishly into the hot flesh and nuzzling at dark hairs that ran down the middle.

“Fair warning-” Sniper panted, his arm coming to rest across his forehead as he let Spy proceed as he liked. “I’m no expert at this.”

Spy looked up at him from kissing sweetly at his navel and gave a knowing smirk. “If I was the first man you’ve kissed, I expect I’m the first man you’ve slept with.” He said, and Sniper felt immediately that his face was burning red. The marksman was grateful the lights were out when the spy pawed lower with his hands, provoking his lower body to stir. “And by this reaction it’s safe to assume you like it.”

“Oh piss off.” The sniper sputtered, covering his eyes, and Spy chuckled back.

That night wasn’t at all what Sniper expected. In fact, it was far better than he had ever imagined. Spy led him with all of the gentleness of a silver screen lover, and pushed for nothing more than what the sniper was certain with doing. It was simplistic, and adventurous, and while Sniper experienced blinding highs he’d never been able to grasp before, Spy felt more certain that he was right where he’d always belonged. The vacant rooms beside them would never divulge the secret sounds of passion and beautifully strained words of adoration and admittance. No one but they would hear the feverish coaxing and whispered names they uttered. And at last, when the quieted air would cool their dampened skin deep into the night, they found a rest in each other’s arms they never expected to want so desperately. Sniper, drained and pliant, curled into a comfortable spot against the rise and fall of Spy’s chest, nosing at the dark fuzz there coyly. Spy held him close as he settled, reclining into the pillows with a tired sigh.

“Hm, tell me mon beau,” Spy groaned happily as his muscles found a relaxing position, “Do you feel as good as you look?”

Sniper snorted, rolling his eyes and nudging his face into taut skin, “What d’ _you_ think?”

“I did ask.”

Sniper grunted, every instinct in him told him not to admit how intensely he’d enjoyed everything about that night. He didn’t want to provoke a man already so smug and well-aware of his talents, but Spy did love praise, and Sniper was a pretty honest man. “Bloody… Grand. Absolutely grand. Happy?” He muttered.

“Mh, very.” Spy smiled, looking up at the white ceiling.

“And you…?” Sniper hesitated, “Ya sure I did alright?” He tensed worriedly at the slow undulations of amusement coming to life in the Frenchman’s ribs.

“You gave me exactly what I wanted, Sniper. I couldn’t be happier.” He replied earnestly, joyously, shifting to leave a kiss atop the other’s head. “Fantastique.”

Sniper huffed, but the squeeze of Spy’s arm around him and the strong drum of the man’s heart eased his tension. It was affection, it was truth. It satisfied the Aussie’s self certainty to hear. He thought himself pretty skilled to have successfully pleased a man as demanding as the spy. Perhaps he had some sort of untapped natural talent. It was vain, but he did feel silly all the same, acknowledging that he’d been guided and taught. He felt as though he was glowing, and he thought to himself that it was nice to trust like this, and feel like this. For once he really understood why the rest of the world eternally chased these things.

To Spy, the night had been a leap, and a breach of the barrier that had kept him from the side of his sniper he wanted most. He had it now, thanks in part to his brilliant planning and eagerness to please of course. Nothing in his mind could compare to the complete and utter gratification of having his ideal in his arms. Just the thought of it made his heart swell, made his arm draw the man closer, made him that much more excited to do more, see more, have more. He realized he was smiling, and glanced down to peek at the sniper, finding him with heavy eyelids, staring thoughtfully at the light filtering through the curtains.

“Won’t you get some rest, Bennett?” Spy cooed, running his hand along Sniper’s bare back and through his hair.

“Might…” Sniper drawled, “But oi, don’t go blabberin’ that name anywhere at work, you hear me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Spy grinned.

Sniper looked up at him for a beat. “…No whisperin’ it either.”

“Oh come now.”

“Spy.” Sniper chided.

“No one would hear it.”

“ _Spy_.”

“ _Bennett_.” Spy cooed.

“It’s Ben.”

“ _Ben_.”

“Spy I mean it.” Sniper frowned.

“Oh, fine.”

“Have you got yer fingers crossed?”

“Must you ruin all my fun?” Spy exclaimed, waving his free arm exhaustedly.

“Are you…” He snickered, “Are you kidding? Dooley, you’re too much.” He was grinning now, he knew Spy was persistent but this was almost adorable.

“I think I am just enough.” Spy huffed.

“You’re positively insufferable.” Sniper shook his head, lifting himself on his arms to hover face to face with the man, locking eyes before he briefly slipped their lips together.

“And you are absolutely intolerable, beau.” Spy added with his certain cockiness.

“Gee, thanks darl’.” Sniper rolled his eyes, but eased into the pressure on his lips and the tongue brushing his own when the Frenchman kissed him again.

“But of course.”

“Just curious…” Sniper said innocently, moving to rest his head into the pillows beside the man. “You thinkin’ of tellin’ me _your_ name someday?”

Spy turned to him, a flickering of honesty in his eyes, “I will say that I genuinely hope to.”

“And the mask?”

“The day I give you my name will be the day I remove it.”

“Fair enough.” Sniper sighed, letting Spy pull the covers higher over their bodies and rest his hand on the marksman’s waist. He mumbled a content sound; this bed was the softest he’d slept on in a long time.

“Monsieur Bennett I’m beginning to think you’re rather fond of me.” Spy grinned, a serious note to his jest as he edged their bodies closer.

Sniper looked at him with a blank expression. “You’re alright.”

Then Spy’s palm was playfully pushing his face and Sniper’s beaming laughter pulled the others lips into a crooked grin. A grunt, squawk and exchange of wisecracks later, they’d laughed themselves into a quiet stupor, and Spy was the first of the pair to fall asleep. Sniper’s thoughts however kept him awake long enough to see the spy turn unconsciously, exposing his vulnerable spine to the man who was in all respects meant to be his enemy. Tentatively and carefully so as not to wake the other, Sniper eased up close to that pale and unguarded back. Snaking his arm around his sleeping body, he let skin settle warmly against skin. He held him then, closely, like the lover he wanted to be, and like the lover Spy deserved that night.

He kissed the nape of his neck, but had to hold his breath and try his hardest not to shake with laughter when he heard a drowsy, ridiculous, and surprisingly enchanting snort in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The NSFW sex scene of this chapter was omitted and posted as a **bonus chapter** you can read [HERE!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9867137/chapters/23015556)
> 
>  
> 
> [[In case you were wondering what it was like to be Sniper at the beginning]](https://youtu.be/MnoJdK8cmwQ?t=101)


	10. Petty Offenses

“Don’t need it.”

Spy blinked at the Sniper who sat behind the table of his camper, cleaning the barrel of his submachine gun. “Excusez-moi?”

“I said I don’t nee-“

“I heard what you said.” Spy interjected as tension visibly took hold of him, “But this is a _gift_.”

“Well that’s nice of ya, but what am I gonna do with it?” Sniper frowned, peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, “Couldn’t even flay a jackrabbit with that thing.”

“I should hope not!” The spy scoffed, grimacing at the blackened fingers working a rag over the body of the firearm.

Sniper clicked his tongue and took another look at the knife Spy had brought to his table. It was a tiny, pocketable switchblade that looked very out of place in his van. As petite as it was, it gleamed with an astonishing polish. The case was silver with gold bolsters, and on the cover plates were etchings of various animals the Aussie recognized made up of dark, engraved lines against the white shine. The intricacies of the work looked so painstaking that Sniper wondered how big of a magnifying glass the artist must have needed to accomplish such a feat. When the spy’s fingers flipped a switch, the spring loaded blade shot outward from the side of the case and displayed etchings of foliage along the knife itself. But no amount of pretty art or metal would make something so small any more useful to a man who needed knives to chop saplings and skin game. The spy really had a lot to learn about the Sniper if he thought he’d like something so impractical and flashy.

“It’s a beaut,” Sniper insisted, “but you keep it. You have a use fer things like that, I don’t. I can’t fell a tree with that thing. I could barely fell a bloody petunia. ‘Sides, I’ve already got a huntin' knife.”

Spy furrowed, “I am not giving it to you to be used as a barbaric club like your kukris.”

“Then why give it to me at all?”

“Have you any idea how much-“

“Yeah yeah, probably cost ya hundreds, thousands even.” Sniper shook his head, “But it’s your style, not mine innit?”

Spy bristled, his eyes going wide with disbelief and rage. “Fine.” He spat after a silence, and before Sniper could put his gun down, the BLU spy was out the door, leaving the knife behind.

Spy stormed off, shoulders tight and nostrils flaring with indignation. He shouldn’t have expected a man who lived in the dirt to understand him or the complexities of his tokens. It wasn’t about the money, not anymore. Sniper couldn’t comprehend that his very presence was throwing the allure of wealth from its proverbial throne, but he always made it sound like that was all the spy cared about. The fool. He activated his cloaking watch as he crossed the territory between RED and BLU, ignoring the distant call of Sniper’s voice. He was anything but in the mood to hear it now. He materialized again in front of the staircase that led to the living section of the BLU base and slinked through the doors like a coiling serpent. Immediately he was greeted with the face of a blue shirted scout.

"Woah there pally, almost clipped ya- hey woah hey what's with the face? Ain't happy t'see me?"

"Out of my way, cretin." Spy hissed.

"Geez Louise, sourpuss. Who put a freakin' bee in your undies?" The young man pressed, partially blocking Spy's path.

"Scout if you do not move I will _shiv_ you."

"Holy crap, alright already!"

Spy pushed past the runner faster than he could step aside, and practically stomped away. Scout pulled his baseball cap off and scratched at his head, watching with a perplexed expression as the other turned the corner. All the blue assassin wanted was to reach his quarters, put away the acid and tools he'd left out on his desk, and sleep off the remainder of the afternoon. He despised being confronted in this state. He'd have to make himself dinner later.

After an evening of slow boiling anger and interrogation from his teammates in the dining hall about his unbecoming mood, the spy went to bed that night more irritated than before. And if the RED sniper’s rejection of his thoughtful present wasn’t enough, he’d then been labeled Team Drama Queen by his comrades thanks to the scout’s big fat mouth. Back in his room, he stripped away his suit with a certain fury as he prepared to put such a terrible day to an end.

_“I don’t need it Spy.”_ Spy mocked with a faux Australian accent, slipping free from his tie with a dramatic swoop of his arm.

“But Sniper mon cher it is our three month anniversary, haven’t you kept track at all?” He responded to himself in his normal, albeit irritable voice.

_“Keep track? Don’t you know I’m too busy sittin’ on my behind all day to keep tabs on my relationship?”_ He mocked to himself again.

“Surely the gift itself must mean something, cher, I spent time, not just money!”

_“Oh Spy, it means nothin’ to me! I don’t care if you made it yourself. I don’t even look closely enough to notice before I say no! I turn away the faintest hint of class because I’m so humble and practical.”_ Spy was violently tossing his shed garments across the room at this point, _“My dirty outdoor way of life is so superior! I think spending money is a crime!”_ The accent Spy imitated was beginning to fall apart.

Then he was slamming his dresser drawers shut as he picked out an ensemble to wear to bed. “You didn’t even think to ask about it!” He argued to his own imaginary marksman.

_“Of course not, it would have absolutely killed me to think critically!”_ Spy mimicked, finally dressed for bed and throwing the duvet aside to shuffle harshly into the sheets.

The hurt that came with the daunting thought that his sniper did not care as much as Spy did was a dangerous, consuming thing. It was easier for him to act angry. A man like him with a job like his could simply never afford to express that pain in any other way. Hurt would be carefully and accordingly distributed in stab wounds, bullet holes, and blood. That was the life he chose to lead, and vulnerability had no place out in the open. He admitted to being a man who held grudges, but not forever- he wasn’t such a villain. He had the decency to let it go once the offending party really got the message and acquainted themselves with the appropriate amount of regret. That night that very mindset kept him awake; allowing him little sleep as he quietly concocted a suitable vengeance for his dreadfully inconsiderate lover. Everything wrong that Spy had been forced to go through that afternoon was entirely Sniper’s fault, and hence, the gunman would just have to pay for the trouble he so thoughtlessly caused.

It was overcast the next day, appropriately gloomy for the brooding mood the spy was in. His exhaustion worked to fuel his need for payback. The RED sniper would find no rest until he’d realized his mistake and apologized. Only then would the spy relent. After all, he was a forgiving person at heart - to anyone that mattered anyway. He made no effort to interact with his team, because he would be making no effort to be a team player today. The announcer counted down as the BLUs boarded the cart. Spy knew exactly where the enemy sniper liked to hide right before the first point, and that’s where he’d start.

It was barely twenty minutes into the battle and the sniper was grumbling as he walked out of the RED respawn room. It was the second time now that the backstabbing snake got him, and a phantom pain from the sheer force of the spearing offended his back.  It seemed Spy was eager to work that morning, and the sniper was beginning to wonder if he was still miffed about yesterday’s exchange. He gripped his rifle and hurried out to his position when a quick flash of red caught his eye.

“Hey’a Snipes, thought I saw a spy ‘round here, watch yer back!” The RED scout called to him as he sprinted up behind the marksman.

“Yeah he’s bein’ a real wanka. Already got me twice.” Sniper snorted back, ducking to avoid being seen across the sightlines.

“Thrice.” The scout replied with a sudden lack of a Boston accent, and before Sniper could so much as cock a brow at the change, pain was resonating through his entire body.

The killer materialized standing over him, and life clung to the marksman’s eyes just long enough to witness a Frenchman’s self-satisfied grin.  Several more deaths, two captures, and a domination later, the sniper found himself forced to be on very high alert. It was obvious now. Spy was mad. He’d even gone as far as to bring out his Dead Ringer and Ambassador, and he never used that combination unless he was looking to be a pain in the ass. He wasn’t able to land a single real kill on the bloody ponce all day; somehow it felt like he was fending off three of him at once. Sniper hadn’t had this much trouble doing his job in what felt like years, and couldn’t peek through his scope for more than a few seconds without looking over his shoulder for a creeping, angry lover. In his pocket sat the knife that started everything. He’d put it there to give back to the Frenchman, but it was clear to him that wasn’t going to happen anymore. He sneered, he couldn’t fathom why such a stupid little trinket ticked the man off so badly. Spy often spit the dummy over little things, as the sniper more recently learned, but this was pushing it. It looked like he’d have to tough it out until the spy got over it like he always did when Sniper said the wrong things at the wrong times.

Watching from behind the doorway, the BLU spy had switched out his pocket watch for something with a bit more flexibility. The Cloak and Dagger would do nicely. He observed the paranoid sniper who obviously sensed his invisible presence nearby. His back really was Spy’s favorite. Something about the curve of his spine, the tension as he held up his gun and the lean of his body were simply enchanting. Shaking his head, the Frenchman shooed away the teasing need to slither up to those shoulders and dig his fingers into them. Now was not the time for starry-eyed reverence. _No Spy,_ He frowned to himself, _You’re angry with him! He deserves this._ Well placed jabs in the back would just have to be the substitute for contact until his work was done.

With that, the blue assassin stole into the stuffy little room he’d been observing when the gunfire outside reached a crescendo. Under the cover of the racket, he snuck off not with another two-point kill, but with Sniper’s kukri instead. Nothing could make a man appreciate having an auxiliary knife in dire times more than having no knife at all. Grinning to himself as he sauntered away, the BLU spy held up the garish weapon by the handle with his thumb and forefinger to observe it. Then, he tossed it away with a look of disgust into an open barrel of a side room before alerting the BLU scout to the RED snipers position. As that business sorted itself out, the spy flicked open his disguise kit with a cocky hum to the sound of Sniper’s dying scream and selected his clueless lover’s image to wear for a while. It was time to put on a show.

The fake RED sniper now snapped at the medic beside him as he leaned painfully against the RED enemy dispenser. “Some doctor you are!”

“Was?” The RED medic asked, shock in his eyes.

“Are you goin’ bloody deaf? I called you more times than I can count! I had to come all the way down here to get any bleedin’ help!”

“Herr Sniper you are not a priority.” Medic glowered, his tone going darker with every word, “You know that. There is only one of me and I’m a busy man on the front line.”

“Yeah? Well I’ve been a bloody _dead man_ keepin’ that blue sniper from poppin’ yer head off!” Spy’s character hissed, “Maybe if ya did yer damn job we’d be winnin’ hey?”

The medic squared up the impersonated sniper for just long enough that Spy worried he might see through the disguise. “I suggest you get comfortable on that dispenser Herr Sniper.” The doctor frowned, his cold, sinister eyes burning through the spy like acid. “Because it will be the only thing healing you today with that attitude.” Excellent.

Sniper was panting, back peddling and dodging the explosions of rockets as a lumbering BLU soldier chased him down. He leapt out of the way of his fourth shot, it’d buy him enough time to escape down an alley while he reloaded. The meaty drongo had caught him upstairs and tried to blow him to bits, but the blast knocked him from the third story instead. Now he clutched at his shoulder, his arm dislocated and his ankles definitely fractured from the fall. He called out for the team doctor, grunting with every aching step, but heard nothing in response. He wouldn’t have been in this mess if he hadn’t misplaced his knife somehow. He must have lost it sometime before that BLU scout tore his chest open with a shotgun. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember how he could have lost the thing- he never moved anywhere without it. He called for help again as he dashed across the open stretch of dirt, spotting his team ahead. The German doctor looked him dead in the eyes for a time, establishing something gritty and unwelcoming, before turning away and ignoring his plea completely.

As it turned out, Spy was taking things way more personally than Sniper anticipated. He’d now learned the spy pissed off the medic using the marksman’s own good name, costing him any assistance if things got hairy. And if the sniper had to hazard a guess, he probably stole his kukri too. The Aussie dug the heels of his hands into his eyes as he slouched against a wall by the dispenser, and he tried to ignore the sympathetic looks he was getting from the engineer hammering away at a sentry gun beside him.

“Rough day pardner?” The Texan asked.

Sniper groaned, “I’ve had better.”

“Y’know Stretch, I haven’t seen that no-good turncoat ‘round my contraptions all day.” He replied, and Snipers eyes got a little wider at the mention of the BLU spy. “I reckon he’s been hasslin’ you instead.”

“Hasslin’s an understatement.” He grumbled loudly. The opportunity to complain drew up the brunt of all of his frustration from the day, and it began escaping in his voice as he continued, “Bloody weasel has it out fer me today… That prancin’ little snot-nosed sod thinks he’s so slick. I’d like to give him a taste of his own bleedin’ medicine but he won’t just up n’ face me like a man.”

Engineer’s eyebrows arched at the sudden change of tone, but smiled at the words that formed from it. He grinned with his teeth and let out a little bellow of a chuckle. For a second it almost seemed as though the man was laughing at the sniper rather than what he said, but Sniper chalked it up to the subtle paranoia he always felt now that he was secretly involved with the enemy. Even if they never once discussed anything touching upon classified information, he doubted their allies would really consider it any less treasonous, so it was vital for him to be on his toes. Even a good a friend as Engie couldn’t be trusted with that knowledge. None of them could.

“I oughta head back.” Sniper sighed as he stood and tipped his hat. He wasn’t about to stick around and slip up with the mood he was in.

The engineer nodded at him supportively, “I’m sure you’ll work it out mister.”

When Sniper returned to his post the last thing he anticipated was a scattering of blue sticky bombs that had been shot in through the open window. The second he rushed in he heard the arrogant howl of that BLU Scottish drunkard down below and the only thing the sniper could remember was the flash of explosives. His eyes opened to quiet and the blurry floorboards of the room. He saw the cast shadows of the rubble before he felt it pressing down on his body. The bombs had toppled the tall stacks of industrial crates and supplies that had been abandoned there, and the marksman could reason they were still full containers by the way they crushed him. He thanked his physique for once, his lanky frame making it easier to wriggle free from the pile of wood and nails. But as soon as he was grateful for his genetics, they inconvenienced him yet again. He was caught in a mess of rope he wasn’t strong enough to break free from. He spat a curse, then another, there was no way to work the damn thing loose from the heap. His several clearly broken bones were also not doing anything to help. He called out, but no one answered- not even a rogue BLU willing to kill him and send him through respawn. From how the echoes of gunfire sounded, both teams were already fighting over the final point a good three hundred meters away. Damn it, damn it all. Grunting, the pain was so thorough he didn’t know which pain to focus on more. He scratched and rubbed infuriately at the dry blood caked on his face.

It was then that he had the most annoying idea he’d ever had in all his life. _“I can’t believe this.”_ He hissed aloud as he wiggled Spy’s switchblade from his pocket and flipped it open.

The RED team lost that day after an unusually long struggle. If it hadn’t been for the knife in his pocket the sniper would have still been calling out for help in the middle of a deserted battlefield instead of sitting at his table in a warm camper. He fingered at the case, bitter at both the coincidence of the blade’s helpfulness, and the fact that Spy had indirectly saved him after a day of petty harassment. He still had yet to speak to the masked man, and frankly wouldn’t even know what to say. Caught between being the bigger man and admitting he had been too severe, and the somewhat childish desire to sock the mongrel in the teeth, he was left having to sort out what to do overnight. Maybe he had been stubborn, gifts were meant to be on the expensive side anyway. Spy was a bit like the twisting wild animals etched into the blade handle. He was a beauty of a sight to look at, but volatile and best treated very particularly like his very own species. Sniper chuckled, spies really were a species all of their own now that he thought about it. Looking closer, he came to realize every animal engraved on the silver case just so happened to be Australian. Newly intrigued, he looked harder until his eyes went wide and he was scrambling to his shelves. He threw down the album Spy had nosed through on his first visit and quickly flipped to the section of his trophies. Eyes flickering between the handle and the photos, he turned page after page.

“ _Fuck_.” He whispered, squeezing the closed knife in his fist until his knuckles went bright.

It was a new day full of new ways for Spy to teach his red-shirted sniper a generally harmless but very valuable lesson. He felt substantially better after yesterday’s clever little games. But as long as the tall Australian remained oblivious to his own insensitivity, the BLU spy would not let him get away with turning a blind eye to devoted work. He spent extra time sharpening his balisong that morning, but every grind against the water stone only deepened his distress. He was a grown man, there was no reason he’d still be mad over something so trivial. No, he just needed to deliver a sort of justice. He was only taking what he deserved for the time and effort he’d spent. He deserved something in return, and if Sniper would not give him his gratitude, then Spy could settle for amusement.

He was poised to strike the marksman, regretfully disguised as his own RED counterpart, as grotesque as that amateur’s fashion sense was. A passing soldier was just enough distraction to quickly approach, but it apparently had not been distracting enough. The BLU spy had a lot of intricate plans that morning, but hadn’t actually planned on what happened next. He lunged right into a quick dodge. Somehow the gunman had realized he was there. Spy narrowed his eyes and sneered into the clumsy motion before righting himself and taking another swing. His disguise fizzled away with the next miss as the sniper blocked himself behind his rifle with a grunt. Spy could find no surprise in his eyes, which vexed him just long enough for the Australian to pull the gun and swing back around, smacking the stock hard against the Frenchman’s gloved knuckles and sending his knife clattering across the floor. Spy hissed angrily at the stinging in his hands, and only spared a flick of his eyes to see that his weapon was definitely out of reach.

“Spy!” The sniper snapped angrily before he recoiled from the kick that sent his body back and his rifle to the ground.

The spy stepped away as he retrieved his revolver from his pocket, pulling the hammer back as he cocked the gun up to his lover’s face. Then again his plans proved short-sighted when Sniper flung a Bowie knife in his direction, leading his eyes away for a second too long. Suddenly Spy found himself bum rushed, firing instinctively into the floor before the revolver was wrenched from his faltering hands with a forceful growl.

“Enough muckin’ about!” Sniper snapped again, flinging the weapon and struggling against Spy’s attempt to slip away. “I’ve had just about enough of your nonsense!”

Spy writhed in the marksman’s grasp, every push met with one equally as forceful. They were too close of a match unarmed. “You think this will stop me?” The spy scoffed with half a mind to laugh in the other man’s face.

“Can’t you just bloody talk to me?” Sniper huffed and struggled, denying the man any escape.

“Why? Is that something you actually need?” Spy seethed back, pulling them around by locked limbs and causing them to stumble about in a violent ballroom dance.

“Spy-“ Sniper choked as he tried his damnest to keep his footing while being strangled by his own clothing. “I’m sorry!”

Their movements slowed, and the lines of Spy’s outrage smoothed over with a wash of bewilderment. He held fast to the Aussie’s shirt, fists balled up in the fabric around his collar. He stayed that way for only a split moment, until he heard the discernible sound of Sniper swallowing the silence, accentuated with a sticky sort of sigh caught amongst his heavy breathing. As if it were a cue, the blue suited assassin bristled again and pushed forward while the sniper had his guard down. They separated, the gunman stumbling backwards in surprise.

“Sorry?” Spy frowned, offendedly brushing off his suit jacket, “Now why in the world would you be sorry?” He asked as if the other man were an idiot.

Sniper sighed and removed his hat, “Common Spy don’t be this way.”

“Oh is this not the reaction you were expecting perhaps?” Spy spat, despising everything about the position he was now in.

The sniper slipped his yellow tinted glasses from the bridge of his nose next, revealing weary, squinting eyes. “Spy I’m sorry.” He repeated.

Spy ignored the look in his eyes, his icy anger tuning out any other concerns. “Sorry for what?”

It was clearly a test, and the Aussie knew it, he knew better than to try and appeal to Spy’s overly particular expectations with wording when he was like this. He reached into his pocket instead, and waved a reassuring palm when the spy tensed at the motion. He retrieved the knife, gleaming silver, and held it up in his grip.

Spy sneered, disbelief in his eyes, “If you think I will take that thing back yo-“

“How did you remember?” Sniper interrupted.

Silence filled the air between them. Spy couldn’t quite process the words. “What?”

“The handle.” Sniper continued, softer this time, “These critters are from me album. Every one of ‘em.” He gave an imploring look but the spy said nothing. “Even the knife, those are eucalyptus trees aren’t they?”

Spy remained impassive, but mainly because he didn’t actually expect anything that was coming out of his mouth, so he wasn’t sure what to feel. “And?” He offered dispassionately.

“You memorized all of ‘em?”

“Yes, so?”

“How?”

“Unlike some people, I actually notice details.” Spy squinted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The marksman went silent for a moment, “It’s gorgeous Spy…”

“It only took you two days to realize.”

“When did you have time to get this done?”

“I made time Bushman.”

“You didn’t… Make _this_ did ya?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Spy sneered, waiting until relief passed over the sniper’s features before continuing. “I only engraved the casing.”

“Wha- you can’t be serious.” Sniper gawked. The look Spy gave him was one of stern impatience and he knew then he was very serious indeed. “Okay, so, maybe, y’are… But – Spy I had no idea…”

“Clearly. You wanted nothing to do with it.”

Sniper went quiet, and they stood in that cramped room facing each other to the sound of the firefight down at the payload tracks. “Spy, I really am sorry…” He was firm, despite feeling the opposite. “It’s amazin’ work, really… Thank you.” His hand squeezed the handle of the blade, only underlining the solemn way he dipped his head before a breathy attempt at laughter left him. “I’m glad you ain’t a sniper with eyes n’ fingers like yours.”

The spy knew he startled the man when he stepped forward to grab him. The Aussie flinched defensively before he allowed himself to give. Ignoring the confusion in his eyes, Spy pulled him further and further until the Frenchman was backed up against the wall. “Are you threatened by me then, Bushman?” He asked the taller man, giving a stone cold look as he fingered at the Australian’s collar.

Sniper swallowed. “I reckon I ought’a be after yesterday.” He offered back in a low tone.

At last, Spy let himself smile. “Good answer.”

They kissed then, but it lacked the typical brevity and simplicity that their encounters at work always restricted them to. When their mouths met it was a swell of something unseen that dwarfed them in size. Spy dug his fingers into anything he could grab a hold of, and Sniper falteringly touched at pinstriped waist and hips. Spy should never have doubted, he should have known. All the sniper needed was a push in the right direction, and he would always provide the Frenchman with precisely what he wanted most.

They pressed closer, lips parting as the world around them faded away to the hotness of tongues. Whatever came over the marksman, it was entirely unlike him. Spy sucked in a sharp breath at the leg that squirmed up between his own. It looked as though Sniper found the experience of making amends rather thrilling – Spy would have to jot that one down.

“You’ve gotten bolder since our rendezvous.” the masked man grinned as he parted from the other, “Were your legs the gates to a whole new Sniper?”

The sniper’s eyes went wide before he turned a pleasant dusty pink. “Shut up.” Was all he muttered before going for another kiss in which they lazily watched each other with open eyes.

“This is very unprofessional.” Spy smirked, and his teasing was not lost on the other man.

“It’s compensation fer all my bloody sufferin’.” He retorted.

Spy made a self satisfied noise, and it drew the Aussie back in for more. The reserved marksman had never done something quite this reckless, and frankly the spy didn’t want to stop him just yet- it was too good a moment. It proved to be the wrong decision though, when just beyond the distraction of passionate reconciliation, Spy recognized the quickly approaching footsteps of others. His eyes snapped open as Sniper continued to indulge. It had all happened within seconds. He realized too late that the cart had passed their position, and there would be no credible way to explain why the RED sniper was still alive on what was currently BLU controlled territory - especially when Spy himself had been so focused on harassing him. Another second passed and he’d drawn the knife he’d kept concealed up his sleeve. By the third second, Sniper’s eyes were wide with agony and bewilderment, and a blade was seated deep into his back as he cried into his killer’s mouth. The masked assassin could tell that behind the shock lay the question of why, but he only answered with a  brief look of sadness before letting the man down easy to the floor and pressing a button on his watch. No more than ten seconds had passed before the BLU soldier and medic were passing by them. The soldier stopped and pointed his weapon at the glimpse of red that caught his eye, but he only paused to scoff at the lifeless form before calling his healer to proceed. When the fall of their boots became distant, the spy appeared from thin air, stepping out from his hiding place in the corner.

He stooped at his lover’s side, and grunted as he lifted the heavy body into his lap. He thanked God for the life clinging to the man’s eyes, at least Sniper had been alive long enough to see why he’d been killed so dishonorably. But Spy didn’t believe either one of them was in any way untroubled by what had just transpired. He found he’d shocked himself out of his eloquence; he said nothing. What was done had been done. Just when everything seemed to fall back into place, and just as he was relieved of his need to make the man suffer so, he now clutched his dying, smiling marksman. Wait…

“You could’a killed me all along.” Sniper wheezed, smirking despite his lungs filling with blood.

“Yes…” Spy admitted sadly, holding the man carefully in his arms.

“You…” He breathed, “Bloody mongrel.”

The man in the blue mask bowed, looking into increasingly bleary eyes that watched him as he pressed a slow and remorseful kiss to the gunman’s lips. He’d never seen the man die with a smile on his face like that. It was probably best that he met him up ahead to apologize.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a series of roleplays. This will be my first major project that isn't completed in advance, so I hope you can all bear with me as I trudge through the writing process. By the time I end most chapters I'm already writing the next one, so I hope to keep consistent with how often I update. 
> 
> I greatly appreciate feedback and I love to create content for you, the reader. One of the few things that drive me to write is the support I get from the community. If you enjoy reading, I'll definitely keep writing!


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